Poem time
Leaving a little poem on the journal this morning. One I wrote a few years ago.
Blues
Norah Jones on the radio;
you balled up one the couch,
I'm a bag of bones,
you're called home.
You smile; you sleep,
it's gentle,
and it's just Track 3.
Blues
Norah Jones on the radio;
you balled up one the couch,
I'm a bag of bones,
you're called home.
You smile; you sleep,
it's gentle,
and it's just Track 3.