Peace,
Is when the clouds form above me,
Alive with bright yellows, oranges & red,
While I sit on a tank's bunt,
With the wind blowing.
Blowing, strong enough to sweep me off my feet,
To the distant rainbows yonder.
Freedom, is when the calf runs around the meadow,
Unaware of any dangers that await,
Lurking in the bushes at the edge.
Bliss is when I know,
Sitting there with the wind in my hair,
There are no worries,
Besides rooting my feet as such
That I don't blow away.
Alive with bright yellows, oranges & red,
While I sit on a tank's bunt,
With the wind blowing.
Blowing, strong enough to sweep me off my feet,
To the distant rainbows yonder.
Freedom, is when the calf runs around the meadow,
Unaware of any dangers that await,
Lurking in the bushes at the edge.
Bliss is when I know,
Sitting there with the wind in my hair,
There are no worries,
Besides rooting my feet as such
That I don't blow away.
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