with the pen Henry walked tall
proud to say some will read his words
never knew they cared enough
he knows he still doesn’t know
if they really care enough
it’s Saturday afternoon
and Henry’s got absolutely nothing
to do and because idle hands tend to
get themselves in trouble
he strikes up a conversation with the pen
on page a hundred miles away
clouds come and go back to clear skies
sunshine smiling from some distance
away back to days when simplicity reigned
king in the corner of each page a number
and how long it has taken
him now to reach back and draw
the line which no one shall cross…
No comments:
Post a Comment