OK

The sky was smeared with wood smoke
and spots of watering light.
It wasn't cold.
It wasn't hot.
It was enough.

My Missus is green eyes
and soft arms.  
She isn't a fashion model.
She isn't rich.
She is Polaris in my sky.

The houses of cards
that we call bodies,
will fall in a puff.

The sitar strings and harmonium reeds,
the tabla and tambura, will sing
after fingers have gone to dust and ash.

My daughters are smeared with wood smoke
and spots of watering light.
They aren't famous.
They will live on.
We are enough.



Originally posted to ruleoflaw on Tue Oct 01, 2013 at 04:17 PM PDT.

Also republished by Rebel Songwriters, Badger State Progressive, J Town, and Kitchen Table Kibitzing.

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