I want to roll in the hay,
feeling the sky 
on my dry skin,
all o'er my eyes.

And a river comes by
a small hidden place
where nobody can see
how the world should be.

So It is, and maybe the rain
could take away
the rest of my day,
leaving me painful, alone.

The dark cold way
doesn't seem very mine
and I miss all the things
nameless in the joy of a smile.

I gazed- and gazed- but small
is a pray in the wind,
a fair sweet will 
in my silent frailty.