by Eleanor Jean

Here I lay in my empty field of green
The small brown birds
and the cool breeze

You slip my mind as I inhale the scene
And here I go
The world so widescreen

Are the birds aware of the beauty they bring
And can they see
The color of spring

There is a point where I realize the sting
Not only from you
But thoughts I sing

I cannot focus on the sky and the view
When dandelions are small
And they’re not you

Go find your peace it’s all you can do
But in the end
I’m yellow, not blue