on mulberry leaves
we float
upon the winding streams
of fornever
into
the heart of spring
where stars flicker
like candles at dusk
the caterpillar
gorges itself
to become
a mouth less moth
on mulberry leaves
we float
upon the winding streams
of fornever
into
the heart of spring
where stars flicker
like candles at dusk
the caterpillar
gorges itself
to become
a mouth less moth
Mike's Manic Word Depot 
I. Love. This.
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(me too) every once in a while i feel like a poet, not someone pretending. this was one of those.
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