Wandering Eyes
A stare is aloft,
Soft like the air,
In silence it walks
Atop who talks
To me— those who care,
Who have my ear,
But not my eyes—
They wander to where
I’d rather sit
If I could only fit
In over there.
A stare is aloft,
Soft like the air,
In silence it walks
Atop who talks
To me— those who care,
Who have my ear,
But not my eyes—
They wander to where
I’d rather sit
If I could only fit
In over there.