Salt Water On Her Skin Poem by James McLain
Salt Water On Her Skin
When the music stops
the tears begin.
As the tears begin to fall
it begins again.
It is only when you try
that you begin
to hear.
To many here have
never felt
salt water on their skin.
White snow on every mountain top
their substitute for sin.
Deep inside the winters cold
I'm squeezed until it flows.
Tears begin to flow again it's then
the music stops.
Sunday, July 26, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: green
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4/26/2024 12:44:34 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Deep inside the winter's cold! With the muse of nature at work. Nice piece.