An opportune moment
as she lay her head on his shoulders,
Is what I dream of
when I write me a song.
The words that spill or ones I conjure
takes me back to time
when I did wonder
what the world had to offer.
Poets or writers of flowery speech
masking shadows that create a brief
spell of synonymns or could it be antonymns
written in scrolls
of long past years.
Would the belligerent ones that disguise
tread upon the written with kind
words of wonder?
She heard his call - one day.