To wake with all these thoughts

Gentle on myself
They are just thought
They are not of me
I do not need to follow them..



Something has made you bleed;

She watched your leaves turn crimson red,

The garden is changing and her hair needs washing.

Feel the cool autumn ground beneath the child’s feet,

All is here, except there is nothing when you are gone.

Let her heart sing and offer her hand,

I don’t know where I am going, only what she believed.