Thursday, March 27, 2008

Angels they have painted hands
You sigh in the sawing breeze
As leaves utter their death rattle
Clinging gasping to the trees
But your nails seem to breathe
Flickering life and colour

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After a busy day when confronting admin

 We must all come  Find ourselves And we will all be found Regardless  As the sun finds the morning As breath finds the lungs As I am found ...