The tears do tumble down my face,
the one who doesn’t cry.
Or perhaps I’m riding my bike on a cool summer evening, or walking beneath the stars.
Empty streets, and she awake,
the one who walks alone.
Maybe I’m in the supermarket, or listening to birds outside.
Little birdie out my window,
chirping, calling, “Come and play!”
Whatever it is, those first two lines are the key to the rest of the poem. They will either make or break it… Continue reading