The whispering of fallen leaves
I have no name for whatever this is when I hear the whispering of fallen leaves asking for more than I have to give with days the color by thousand year old clouds how I long for so much more than just the open road There is a fine line between sanity and the pyre we are all a little bit crazy and yearn to light the fire inside to feel the warmth of our souls set ablaze an interlude and wistful dream that lasts until a child cries in sleep