With letters on her fingertips,
she spelled her name.
With fractured verse and clumsy hands,
I did the same.
A summer, her playground closed, boarding trains,
she spoke through tears.
She said that no one flies here.
"We can walk to where the sun falls down,
we can catch hit with both hands,
I'll paint you pictures of what it's like down here
if you promise me skies like red red roses."
Somewhere between stations,
we chased new wings
and found our beauty in twilight.
I saved a seat by the window,
I know how you like to watch
the colours blur.
Light has flown
from feathered arms
that only dreamt of finding
skies that blur blood red now
She watched the sun fall so full,
so heavy it may never climb back up again.
Still she said that she thought she
found rainbows in my eyes.Еще Bob Tilton