The day has come, everyone speaks dizzy. Their arms are that of a sponge, while mine are so
new. I am the diamond in the coal, the snow in the creek, the lamb with the wolves, the laughter
in the teen flick. So quiet is the lamb. All silent as I am. So few cares fill my head. What a lie
we’ve taught ourselves. The quiet are usually right. Eighteens a number of mine. A simple word, I
like to cheer. Relieve my pain, wash my eyes, shoot the breeze with those whole, and then ask
why: Why be so pale when all is promised?