Kayla

It's quiet here now, after many year of greed, my face smooth as stone, can still see the place, where praise be, I hope to be saved, my body’s like snow, swept across the turnpike, when it starts to blow, give me the name, where there’s serenity, not just on feast days, owls fly as silent souls, against a moonlit field, right upon my shoulder, geese honk on their way, late for the season, I'm just the same, can’t you see ?