This is Morocco, my friend,
the way the dusty wind kicks us
til Kingdom Come,
and the hours we sit and stare
at the children in the street
there
where an orange is fitting for a ball,
there is beauty after all,
despite despair,
and the aching mixture of love and loss
is one.
-
Follow
Following
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
saunterings 