This funk I feel will heal somehow.
The textures of my mind are strange,
But they will change and even now
I feel those textures rearrange.
I’d rather think the world’s sublime
Than whine about each little thing.
I’d rather waste my time with rhyme
Than worry that I cannot sing.
Photo: “Three Textures Somme Woods” linked to K’lee and Dale’s Cosmic Photo Challenge and trablogger’s Mundane Monday.
Poetry, Short Prose and Walking 