Our Poem
Sitting with the sun on my face,
The breeze in my hair, the wind in my ear.
Letting go of my thoughts as they race.
Each taking pieces of me as they leave.
When they're all gone will I still be whole
Or entact enough to recognize myself?
Will I even still have a soul
Or will it become what the sun is;
A blazing ball of power and light,
A shining beacon of hope and promise,
A vision of what tomorrow brings,
Maybe time will tell.
The breeze in my hair, the wind in my ear.
Letting go of my thoughts as they race.
Each taking pieces of me as they leave.
When they're all gone will I still be whole
Or entact enough to recognize myself?
Will I even still have a soul
Or will it become what the sun is;
A blazing ball of power and light,
A shining beacon of hope and promise,
A vision of what tomorrow brings,
Maybe time will tell.
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