Billy's Poem

I wrote as soon as I heard. Please Billy, don't fret about my past, that is the reason I write to you. I hear of all these stories but I only wish to hear from you. You speak of the birds, Billy, describe their color and size. Tell me how it feels to have them perform a concert just for you. Tell me of the feeling of the wind on your skin. Tell me of the secrets that the wind carries as it brushes along you neck. Tell me of the wonder of the ocean and how its allure compels you to selfishly bring home some of the sand in your shoes in the hope that one day the whole ocean will be in your backyard. Billy, all of the questions which I have neglected to asks these men I simply must ask you. And most importantly, I must ask you about what lies