Poetry, notes, and drawings by William Michaelian
.DowngradeI recognize that sound…that wild whisper of freedom.No, I guess not.Just the drone of a truck upwindon the highway down the mountain.But I know this sound…that soft voice sweetly singing.Well, maybe not.Just the constant loud roar of theneighbor’s brand new fountain.Still I think can recallthe sound, remember that whisper.Singing from long before.The sound of alone, a songgentle though stark.Ah, yes…now I remember…the wind through the pinesin the dark.Copyright 2009 – Tall Grass & High WavesGary B. Fitzgerald
Like that. Different. Less. More. After we were. Before.Thanks, Gary.
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