Tidings.

My feet meet the ground,
Starry head too light,
You're still breathtaking.
If you believe it's in my soul,
Then I'll try to say all the words I own.
If I can speak on that day,
And utter my bashful reality,
Please remember me for the better.
Oceans and comets and rain,
The fresh smell of cut grass,
The morning tinkle of birds;
We awoke on those days
With feet grounded,
And starry, starry heads.