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05-13-2004, 11:34 PM
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#10 |
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Has Body Temperature
Join Date: Oct 2003
Location: I come from a land downunder
Posts: 1,105
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Flightless on the vine,
Not soaring as he should. His wings weighed with trail of time, The feathers carved in wood. The hands mark an hour of ten past ten How many eyes have watched in vain? The value of the second hand A life? A child? The sun? The rain? Do not let time defiantly be a captor But be captured in what it lets linger The cuckoo's wings beat not through the air But YOUR feathers are not timber
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