When lines are painted with the best of intentions, we go. We listen to the roar of traffic; the screech of the stop. And the silent red hand changes briefly to green. So we go. And when Time is done with us borrowing it like some favorite book we are reluctant to return, we know we have to go. And so we do. We go on.
When lines are painted with the best of intentions, we go. We listen to the roar of traffic; the screech of the stop. And the silent red hand changes briefly to green. So we go. And when Time is done with us borrowing it like some favorite book we are reluctant to return, we know we have to go. And so we do. We go on.
Beautiful Quenntis! Thank you for sharing this piece.