In a mossy bed she lies awake, wat
If alone, she’s far from home, no
Afraid to move she tries to speak,
Then a sound flung from the ground
“Why do you sing?” She asks the b

We sat together while I read out
My young eyes focused, my head was
I glanced at your attentive face,
Familiar memories you seemed to ch
Ancient poems that old men wrote

Please remove your masks,
please tell me they can go.
leave room for my flowers,
they also need to grow.
I’m sorry I can’t reach you,

The absent minded artist; he wishe
He finishes the portrait,
and yet he hates the face.
the absent minded artist
knows not which path is best

Echos are a reminder of something
Echos are evidence
Echos scream at the ears of hate.
Hate pays them no mind because he
Scream over a mountain top