Before morning walk
Soft sunshine through the window
On my writing chair.
Around the corner
I don't know what will be there,
Or what lies behind.
Four tiny fairies
Hide in the deep dark caverns
Of the dead tree trunk.
In the tangled bush
A dark speck is motionless.
The bird sits watching.
A bench on the snow
Sits under the ornament;
Both are unemployed.
I wave at the cars
Not knowing who's inside.
They always wave back.
A single pine cone
Suspended in thin branches;
Middle of descent.
Ribbon on tree
Hanging like it belongs there.
What is its purpose?
Under stupid sign
The three colored boxes lie--
A garbage shell game.
No comments:
Post a Comment