You know that time of morning
when the fog begins to lift,
you see your breath trail streaming
and you know that it’s a gift.
Once constant pains and worries
are loose paddles in the drift,
early birds and nightingales
toss Charlie Parker riffs.
When we hear of someone’s passing,
into the great beyond,
and wish we could tell them
that their life will carry on,
our heartbeat keeps repeating
not believing they are gone,
a signal uncompleted
unsure notes to start a song.
No. Hotmail it’s free. May you please help me.