Unborn

An unborn song

An unborn story

Rolled through the streets by the wind’s inspiration

Rolled out again on its next exhalation

A new thing under the sun

A new thing never begun

A whisper no human heard

Perhaps to great for a word

A note

Or the stroke of a brush

I wonder what it meant

I wonder what it was

Perhaps it was too much

To touch

But I weep for its passing me by

Visit my poetry page for more.

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