The dark wanes like moon high,
Inviting as it is with mist and trees
And echoing through the gloom
Is a darker owl chewing on the night.
It is an early morning
I make the tea, I spill it some
And wipe it up with my sleeve
Perhaps as sun rises it will wipe away the night
And replace it with a deeper gloom
One we can see less by,
As I take a sip from cup
It is happening even now.
And when I'll refill my cup
I'll encounter the 62 ounce teapot
And it'll say to my, you can't see what I hold
Like everday, in my life
But I'll pour it out in response
And get something out of it with a bit of work
Or with a bit of Love
And with a bit layed down
I'll have something to savor in memory
As I drink from Life years from now.
And go through my junk,
I'll probably find a silver lamp,
A homey cup that I dipped once into the streams of time,
And a birthday card from someone loving telling me about myself.
Life is what you make it
And if I could live for ever, I would never finish
Writing and Painting
And after I got good at those
Couldn't one do anything? Live anywhere? Date anyone?
Scribe and Illustrate any future into the dreams of others?
I would be there helping imagine.
Inviting as it is with mist and trees
And echoing through the gloom
Is a darker owl chewing on the night.
It is an early morning
I make the tea, I spill it some
And wipe it up with my sleeve
Perhaps as sun rises it will wipe away the night
And replace it with a deeper gloom
One we can see less by,
As I take a sip from cup
It is happening even now.
And when I'll refill my cup
I'll encounter the 62 ounce teapot
And it'll say to my, you can't see what I hold
Like everday, in my life
But I'll pour it out in response
And get something out of it with a bit of work
Or with a bit of Love
And with a bit layed down
I'll have something to savor in memory
As I drink from Life years from now.
And go through my junk,
I'll probably find a silver lamp,
A homey cup that I dipped once into the streams of time,
And a birthday card from someone loving telling me about myself.
Life is what you make it
And if I could live for ever, I would never finish
Writing and Painting
And after I got good at those
Couldn't one do anything? Live anywhere? Date anyone?
Scribe and Illustrate any future into the dreams of others?
I would be there helping imagine.
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