I am white in a field of green
Swaying in the breeze
As bright as the sun
Just waiting
Waiting for her to pick me.
I am the arms
The arms that bring her joy
When she sees the beauty upon them
Reminding her of the arms that use to hug her
Just waiting
Waiting for her to pick me.
I am green
Under those bright white lights
Strong and lean
I am the base of everything
Just waiting
Waiting for her to pick me.
I am the scent
The scent that reminds her of old times
Carrying that smell all around her
Just waiting
Waiting for her to pick me.
It is me she sees
In that field of green
As bright as the sun
As the arms that bring her joy
Strong and lean
Carrying the scent of old times
No longer waiting
For she has picked me.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry for a Thought
Poetry"A poet's work is to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start arguments, shape the world, and stop it going to sleep."---Salman Rushdie [Cover made by @AN_almightydreamer ]
