Playing down a furrowed lined incased in head
is unmade bed all windows
to a soul.
Lifting shoulders burdens would not dare to try
and carry on this path of thorns whom
say they care.
Anology compares your mind to theirs grace
fares a better plate to rest my slice
of bread your host.
Yellow morning sun a cloud to bank the wisom
of some ink the pages would all
play a part this day.
Solitude of moonless shine thine sureal would
you find a clearing seamless
mist now dine.
Is It Poetry
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/guileless-child-we-think/
