I listen to folk's voices, their words . I believe they will speak the truth....
Sharing is a song with a beat like an ancient drum.
I freely dance and trust that what they say is what's so.

something felt wrong as you spoke, this evening, at the table, as I prepared your honest food

a thousand bees buzzed searching for the Queen
There was something so array in your story
and in my wise place
I tried to make sense of it

and I knew. One just knows, feels

a lie

Bees were lost trying to find the nest and
my mind tried to find the Queen so all would land well
trying to put the pieces together you left out
And then,again.I ask myself how and why do I keep expecting truth from an old man who has lied all of his life?