SunnyBlu
On one of the branches of an oak tree on the hill, a wooden swing on frayed straw ropes creaked in the wind. Twitters of birds echoed through the air, lit by afternoon sunlight. Children down below played jump-rope and ring-around-the-rosy. A small farm below was surrounded by waving yellow grasses, in which horses, goats, and cows grazed. And still, the wooden swing creaked.
Underneath the oak tree,
Anything can happen.
Where some are in bliss and others kiss,
and journals are opened and flattened.
While the bluejays report it to the sky,
the oak tree says nothin'.
Underneath the oak tree,
Everything can happen.
"The LEAST you can do is aknowldedge me!"
I ignored her.
"First you pester me about something that I've never even heard of, and now this! I really don't understand you and your imaginary beliefs and... and your attitude! You and me..." she caught up to me angrily, "You and I should never even have met."
banging, clanging,
clinking, crashing,
oh how I love my tambourine!
ever changing,
always fighting,
but I'm always happy with my shiny tambourine!
I love tambourines, for some reason. They're not really drums, they're not really symbals, which is kinda cool. I wanna thank whoever invented the tambourine.