I walk to school in a
haze of buttermilk
clouds
that
tumble
gently
and drift from place
to place
to place.
Wind tugs gently
at my heartstrings,
Pulling me on and
nudging me lightly,
from behind.
The treads of my
Toms wear down
slowly, well better
my shoes than
the soles of my feet,
or worse still,
the soul of my body.
What will happen to
me when eventually
my soul is worn down
to nothing but dust?
Who will care for me
then?
