Medicine is in its bags...


Just Come Along

We are all with different roots
Needing time to grow on
In the night there are beauts
A strayed ways lonesome spawn
Feelings that come and go
Moving the shadows again
Flowers on hills and snow
Dark sighted unknown guardsmen

Desperate ways feeling so alone
You and I - needing it all
Breezing of thoughts pebble and stone
What comes to you in this call?
Never be again without a guide
Medicine is in its bags
Some is gone river have dried
What are left are only its tags

Be what you stand always for
Riding the dales and the hills
Destiny knows if there's more
Pattern and structure out of it twills
Going on never to despair
Waiting and moving destiny
Nothing is ever reasonable fair
Just come along and ride with me




Poetry by Peter S. Quinn
Read 1189 times
Written on 2006-11-02 at 20:43

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