Under my finger and my thumb,the keys rest, snug as a rug,Under my window, a clean grating sound,when…
There are certain,
times,
There’s mud on my boots,And it smells like rain.
I’ve looked at the sky,A thousand times,Marveling at the creator’s display,
It’s the motion i think,That makes the words come.The road stretched out ahead,
And for a moment,I saw the world in,her eyes.
It was Summer,the first time I saw her,feet wet in the morning dew,
The air is warm,and heavy.