Sunday, November 18, 2007



T. A. Mennie

Gazing at the sky
The clouds drift by,
Blue sky showing though
White, gray, pink tinged from the setting sun.

Gentle winds blow
Clouds moving by
Night comes on the sweep of a cloud
The breath of the wind

Warm, tired
In need of being held
A soft caress

Lost, resting
Help me
Bring me
Release me

Dream, touch
Be my desire
I want what I cannot have
To float upon a cloud

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