After the storm,
a clearing,
a hole in the flute,
the sky where we live,
finding it’s wings again,
a deep sigh,
light after dark,
a fresh poem,
wake up, wake up,
to the joy of existence.
After the storm,
a clearing,
a hole in the flute,
the sky where we live,
finding it’s wings again,
a deep sigh,
light after dark,
a fresh poem,
wake up, wake up,
to the joy of existence.