EPISODE · Sep 12, 2022 · 1 MIN
As I wrote (in the summer garden).
from Tales from the edge of the morning sky · host Paul Morris
Send us Fan MailI wrote in the summer gardenI wrote ‘in the summer garden, the light was golden, the air, clear and pure, the dawn lifted the skies towards the heavens, time turned upon the tides as I listened to the waves break upon the distant shore,’And then I stoppedand wondered, did it matter at all?And then continued,with these wordsand watched the summer fall,‘In the east gathered a stormin clouds of grey and blackwith hammers of thunder lightning hissingand a thousand eyesred, aflameand abandoned humanitylooking scared looking back,’and then I pausedfor a butterfly had alightedin the colours of blossoming,flowers of morning sky,and I asked myselfthe question holding back in mourning,‘Why?Why?’[email protected]
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Send us Fan Mail I wrote in the summer garden I wrote ‘in the summer garden, the light was golden, the air, clear and pure, the dawn lifted the skies towards the heavens, time turned upon the tides as I listened to the waves break upon the distant shore,’ And then I stopped and wondered, did it matter at all? And then continued, with these words and watched the summer fall, ‘In the east gathered a storm...
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As I wrote (in the summer garden).
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