Hand brushes grass,
And shoe crunches stone;
Spring has come – alas –
For I am here alone.
Sky kisses ground,
And brook caresses lea —
So why, in all of this,
Won’t you touch me?
Other People's Feelings
Hand brushes grass,
And shoe crunches stone;
Spring has come – alas –
For I am here alone.
Sky kisses ground,
And brook caresses lea —
So why, in all of this,
Won’t you touch me?