Sunshine bounces off the snow, blinding me withwhiteness. Blue skies stretch…
A Ballad
I long for the gardens at Cordoba,Where the maidens weep like morning rosesAnd the sun never rises…
My sleeping soul wakesAs the town’s vespersClimb the stairless sky,And the sea whispers.
Hey You,
Quiet moonwalker, starry-eyed spirit sorter. Let your fingers do the talking for a while…pay no…