She talks to planets she created sighing
Slow fantastic oceans
Creator's secret masterplan
Suns she gave fuel to evaporating
Growing into land
She's the great galactic trip-in
Deep mystery of life cycles
But I call her Little Beata
Bride of the albatross
Seventh sister of heaven
Green and red, she's an Irish head
Used to be blonde
But then she changed the weather
Will she conquer the facts
Or let them slide out of hand
Down the eternal wave of death...
Featured Post
People C’mon, Wherever You May Roam
C’mon people, people c’mon Walk with me together Into things unknown Into tribal sunrise hanging high above Valleys of your wisdom Mountains...
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