on the shores of my island <br />are rocks <br />and stones with sharp <br />teeth <br /> <br />do not come <br />with bare feet <br /> <br />if you can invent wings <br />try putting them on <br /> <br />i am a friend of birds <br />and all that <br />is taking the softness <br />and blues <br />of clouds <br /> <br />the breeze puts the music <br />to my shells <br /> <br />they are all empty <br />the hermits are dead.<br /><br />RIC S. BASTASA<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-the-shores-of-my-island/
