Pocket full of shells.
That Sally didn't
sell me.
Pocket full of shells
I found on a
different type of
seashore.
I walked your shore
feet stuck in the sand.
Not sure what I was
looking for to meet your
demand. Picked up
your broken shells
put them in my
pocket. they sit in
my fingers. All your
broken shells
they sit in my jar.
Never very far. All
the broken shells
together form a beauty.
Sally could never sell
me these shells of
you. The jagged
seashore I'd walk once
more to find
your beauty and
keep your shells in my
jar.
No comments:
Post a Comment