Sunday, October 15, 2006


the bird

A bird flue over a fowered wall
FROM a beak a flower did fall
Then I heard its creative call

"From a beak a flower did fall ..."
That's grand that we can notice that and to hear the whispering colors. Thus I ask myself, who am I?
Am I the flower that flies down or the running up wall?
And it doesn’t matter what I think or want. Everything else is just my memoirs that inspire just my own comments that build the wall that causes the flower fall down. The goodness is jus one here. The flower at the wall inspires other to rejoice at the power of the colors to ignore the logic and to attempt to break the wall of my memoirs, to lay down the plain path to the heavenly sunbeam.
That may look quite strange, but I indeed rejoice for people show very little interest in my blogs. They haven time; they are to live while my body became the stumbling block on the road...
"A bird flue over a fowered wall" I am so glad in his success. He didn’t crash. That’s glory to God.
Thank you for the comforting news.
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