quinta-feira, setembro 18, 2003
A distant night bird mocks the sun.
I wake as I have always done,
To freshly scented sycamore
And cold bare feet on hardwood floor.
My steaming coffee warms my face
I'm disappointed in the taste.
But there's a peace the early brings
The morning world of growing things.
I feel the moments hurry on
It was today, it's died away,
And now it is forever gone.
And I will drink my coffee slow
And I will watch my shadow grow
And disappear in firelight
And sleep alone again tonight.
The monkees
Não é a minha cara? Recebi do meu amigo PP, via comments. Obrigada, moço! :)
posted by
Viviane at 1:42:00 PM
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