Friday, January 30, 2009


The waves, they wash o'er me
as I trudge upon the sand.
They seek to overwhelm me,
but I fend them with my hands.

They shall not overcome me;
I will not let that be.
For a gentle lark, she guides me.
She seeks to set me free.

Yes, she has always been there
to guide me every day.
She taught me how to soar
and how to make my way.

She wants me to fly high now--
to give her no remorse.
But she knows that I grieve so,
as that was too her course.

And so I will fly on now
and soar above the waves.
But I shall miss the gentle lark
until my dying day.


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