The Writer's Voice

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The Amber that washes ashore

Neither you nor I can ask for it

Before it comes or after it goes

Thatís Amber that washes ashore

Deep in you there it lies,

Wake that fellow,

Soft and mellow

And you will now fly in the skies.

How good it is, but where is it?

That fun it gives

Sweet syrupy drowsy dew that talent; it is

Sweet maybe

Drowst too

Like honey or morning dew

But again talent is not for few

We pick the shells 

Learn to walk and run

In course forget the talk of rot and useless fun

Learn to pick Learn to live in the earth, that we dwell

For what we see hither

Only we best know

He and His plans of hail or snow

In that garden of yours to flower or wither...

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