A violin plays in the background
Recalling a snowy day
Like all days of snow
It’s quiet nothing to say
Late day bending sun
Reminder of days gone by
My grandmother’s house
No need to reply
The linger of soil and pine
A breeze nudges the tree
The forest awakens
It’s imagination you are free
Hello,
His friends observe Mark seems wired a little differently. Perhaps it’s more likely that noticing little things often missed by others is a relic of a quieter, simpler time. He has a way with words, which he refuses to let be hindered by sub-par typing skills. People have great stories to tell if you sit and listen.
A belief dear to Mark is that there is certain beauty in the world. You simply have to look for it.
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