Life is here,
the time is now.
The milk for cheese comes from the cow.
But it must age,
as so must we…
So that we may keep climbing up life’s rough tree.
Hands together and hands apart;
so far away but always close to my heart.
Eyes on Venice,
hearts that Rome,
Where is it that anyone truly calls home…
Spoiled, rotten,
cheese is mold…
A tale to tell of broken hearts.
Penicillin gives a healing start.
Even when hearts still bleed.
So do not protest,
it shall be in vein.
For the healing has come;
wasting medicine would be a shame.
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