Friday, April 1, 2011

Sometimes

Sometimes a hermit I would be-
who lives beside the sparkling sea
And sleeps on quilts of eiderdown
Who never, never, goes to town-

And keeps her heart encased in glass
So all life's pain goes sweeping past.
And is untouched by hurt or sorrow,
Ah, yes, I'll dream again, tomorrow.


No comments:

Post a Comment