Now the three stones I stole
From a hidden beach I found
Must find their own connection
To one another where they
Stand in the photograph
Of a family just arrived
They could be three generations
Reunited after centuries
One is fat but graceful
The other all hard angles
Their daughter veiled in white
They could be the father the son
And the holy ghost
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment