Indie Scribe Magazine October 2014 | Page 39

Dark shadows blowing in the wind,

Trail spirits what whispers in glen;

Heartfelt worries become the trend

Be it again, be it again

Nails scratching head thinking even more,

Wondering why thunder implores;

Ample treasure of secret stores

The gutter roars, the gutter roars.

Least ways the music of the spheres,

In stars and bars of preferred shares

Calms the Aspen in growing cares

Diviner airs, diviner airs.

I step the puddle from the rain,

Then I must splash it once again;

To know of this song that sustains

Is not rain plain? Is not rain plain?