Plain Words: Poem 41

the days they draw together

one melds into another

today is thursday or is it friday it doesn’t really matter

the wind still blows

the leaves rustle

the trees stand solid and unmoving

small creatures come and then they go

living their lives around us

breathing and dancing

and watching us from hedges and rows

we in our turn

laugh and we cry

we live in our machines

then walk outside

where we laugh and where we cry

 

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