Goodnight, Dear

How it exists,

And so subtley

changes.

How things were there

That, now, are gone.

With days, 

Like strangers,

Pass by, they come,

Like you and I.

So hence the sky is probably blue,

And the grass is probably green,

And I probably love you. . .

Probably, probably,

Like seasons changing,

Porbably.

I wish you goodnight,

Coz the starry sky

Looks as beautiful

As when it was probably blue.

29.8.08 13:58