Sand or tobacco
hair
each with a golden smile
some with glitter in their eyes
I wander and wonder
shan't my wits fly
with a broken wing?
astern, I fear
day still sings the same
the graceful airs
fall on dark
despite the great beauties on this land
yes, they dwell within white lights
and talk the talk
how
I know not
pity remains
even for the very little
said and done
and it delivers only unrest.