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mornings in a garden facing the mountains,
me, bees, n the flowers, the sun loving me in her warm mellow, golden glow
the breeze that passes over me n the garden alike like love and heody's me r whispers;
my hair soft, n ruffled, my eyes wide opened, my smile only a part of the sunshine;
as beautiful as my tear and the stars up in heaven,
nights, my soul rises to be with them, i fly between the stars thru the nite;
swim the depths of blue space, the wind s music, miss all those who missed me;
i fly and i know they r there n always were and sometimes i become contained in the fact that everybody's me; and i was but a fragment in a vase splitting, shattering into serenity, thru eternity...
my tears were crystals, and so everything's a poem, and everything splits always to be part of one poem...one poem of motion, of silence, of permanent movement thru ethreal equilibrium...
and so it was....when i was....