When I am forced out of the nest into a creul world A tiny house I will have surrounded by overgrown grass Through the grass hauntingly white stone pathways will cut One of which will lead into an orchard on one side I will be there close to the night absorbing it's fall Against a tree staring into the horizon that brought us many songs And I a lone poet taking the color in and bringing words out Carry on the tales of the folk and the legend that lies there of
That's cool, you sorta take us on a journey, to a house, through the grass, along the path to the orchard, where you, the poet, watch the night fall. You really painted the picture for me, and I enjoyed reading it.
