I spoke to my father for the last time,
His voice has passed on but he beats...

Soberly I stand, draped with a cloak of gladiolas...
I feed and graze upon emotions that engulf...

The window appeared narrow,
These eyes don't focus like they should...

Deep thought consumes me
during an August sunset...

He baits his thoughts
Upon a hook of deep words...

I am dirt, just a dirty girl....
That's what I said to a spiritual...

Lips curled, nestled
softly around a burning...

I am the rise and fall of October-
Leaves will turn color, shades...

A mysterious lady I have become;
for I have located myself within...

I've meant to cast shadows
upon a past of echos...

Tinsel webbing spun
linked to the heart of an Oak...

I will not write another word,
Thoughts are passing away...