Every car that passes by,
That is not mine,
Is another ride,
I cannot find,
To take me back home.
Every drop of rain in this light,
Challenges the blackening night,
To a duel of wits so bright,
That i watch all alone.
To every raindrop at my feet,
The ones that make the contagious beat,
The ones that i cannot defeat,
That send shivers through my bones.
I hum along to your song of plants,
The one that whispers and enchants,
The one that sways with the winds that dance,
And to only me it is shown.
And still any car that passes by,
Will not be mine,
I'm wasting time,
I have to find,
Another way back home.
YOU ARE READING
Fruit salad
General FictionThis is a Fruit Salad or a compilation of short story thingys
