The door blew open,
And scattering some letters,
That lay on the mat.
Boots thick with wet mud,
Where has that come from? I ask.
I’m met with silence.
There was a pink moon,
And I photographed it too,
There behind a cloud.
As complex as simple is.
The door blew open,
And scattering some letters,
That lay on the mat.
Boots thick with wet mud,
Where has that come from? I ask.
I’m met with silence.
There was a pink moon,
And I photographed it too,
There behind a cloud.