Where will you go in the morning,
when the brand new day begins?
Leave the washed dreams we’ve scattered
across a lifetime of linens.
Or tuck them away, next to your breast.
Take them with you, in your heart.
Let them fly like an angry sparrow,
much afraid to face the dark.
Let them sing like a ladys laughter.
Let them charm like a babys touch.
They are yours to keep forever.
They’re all I had; it wasn’t much.
Where will you go in the morning?
as your chains rest on the floor,
and you take that first, important step,
and turn your worn key in my door,
where passion turns to sadness,
and your foot steps trip along,
every answer that is in your path,
like an old familiar song.
O’ where will you go, my little one,
with your courageous, shaking hands?
Should you disbelieve your yesterdays,
then I should understand.
A poem about the parting of ways