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Click herei suppose that i am foolish
made the promise to never ask
and haven't
words wrapping round my tongue
making me speechless
how to say what's not yet born
pulls explanations dripping
future down like willow
boughs of what i know break
the weight of a smile
a pulsebeat
and a thousand questions
that asking never answers
anyway.
my confusion, cloudy puddle-eyed one
turns me in on dark sighs
remembering memory and roses
wishes, horses, beggars, and
other romantic cliches
that will never meet my ears
or pass your lips
there is a chance
small, don't look twice
that you in your tufted hair
a nest of swallows and the noble frog
are the answer to my question.
Had to read this a couple times to better appreciate it. At first that first strophe seems a bit confusing without commas, but you lead off the second strophe with, "my confusion" which lends a bit of clarity but I like that ending; makes me think you need to kiss that frog to reveal your noble prince.