She was more than a little . . .
Had a way of leaving her smile
in strange parts of the room
And you'd find it there
How'd this get here
Was it her plan
to let the ghost of her perfume
in this room
Or was she just a little too . . .
Do you hear that
Echoes of her whispers
In the torrent of noise
we call Life
leading into the desert
Quixotic as ever
William C. Burns, Jr.
Be careful of the questions you ask
you might just get the real answer
Be careful of the wishes you make
they might just come to pass . . .