Wooden ships, on the water. Rescue me.

Don't cry shut your eyes.
Gonna watch each other die.
Before we give it another try.
Hover little hummingbird.
Dart through the sky.
I've been under the thumb.
It's no wonder I'm still shy.
Hunger, onward, with my desires.
Learned the hard way not to play with fire.
From a comfortable distance, I'll admire.
Because I got to take a break.
I'm exhausted, I'm tired.

Let me be something every minute of every hour of my life…And when I sleep, let me dream all the time so that not one little piece of living is ever lost.

—Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (via bookmania)

(via waltzforagirl)