my nights:
My Camera's nights:
A tribute to my camera as illustrated by two photos from last night and one this morning.
There once was a boy born without a brain
and everything that came,
went out just the same.
So on the eve of a departure,
he at last grabbed an eye
that would catch all the things
that went fluttering by,
then got on another train.
Through sand, sea, and boulder, They travelled well snug
Taking scissors to patterns and art in each club.
Taking to strangers and toasting foreign leaders
our closest were distant, the liars believed us.
But in the morning,
The sun would turn black into gray into blue
The boy would wake slowly and haven't a clue
What transpired last night, whose bed he was in,
The shouts for more angels,
the shouts for more sin.
But within his bag lied the story unfolded
By the people who were and the reason we smolder.
boo(click)hoo
1 comment:
well said
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