It was only tomorrow
when i looked at her hair while she walked by
i did not know but who she said she was but she never said who said what she said she was
but when she did she knew for she was as she knew i told her so
but she did not listen...
she didn't need to...
for her eyes were golden and her heart afire so burning with burn that burn is nothing
and across the shores she flew just so slightly above the ground so as not to forget that was but more than but a thought
but a thought is what she was and in she was a thought that she knew was never true but ever so beautiful a thought
so she lay
goodnight...
Copyright ©2004 John F. Weaver