When I first saw you I wasn't looking
You were just another nameless face
Drowned out in a sea of people
Following the tide
It was only when I sat next to you on a crowded bus
That I truly saw you
One look at my overstuffed bag
And you knew I was new
For twenty minuets we talked of home
I spoke of rolling hills and daffodils
While you talked of rivers and swamps
If only I knew my home would soon be you
Now every flash of brown
I look up and hope
I hope to see you
My life, my lover, my home
YOU ARE READING
through toil and chance
PoetryPoetry for the doers and the dreamers. Poetry for the lovers and the fighters. Poetry for the soul seeker and the self lover. Poetry for the misfits and the outcast. Poetry for the classicist and poetry for the modernist. Pictures featured are not...
