lost in a kaleidoscope of colour
flashing like crystals in the light
twisting in a hurricane of thought
some sticking but most not

head for the cellar
said the weather fella
its going to hail its going to rain
and your house blow away and not come back again

the words fluttering like leaves
in an fall wind
sometimes on the tongue
but gone before said or tasted

somewhere in the clutter of memory
only to come to mind
in the midst of another chatter
when it really doesn’t matter

lines that only come to mind
when pen and paper are not at hand
and in the storm turned and tossed
the words are lost



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