Shadows or sunlight?
Is the whole world topsy turvey
This magic Sunday?
Wind tickles the plant
Which shows its silent laughter.
Sun clings to the leaves.
Plethora of signs
Telling us all what to do--
Mute insistence.
Gliding through the sky
With apparent nonchalance,
The hawk is hunting.
In the road's shadow
The crow is pecking at something--
Black feasting on black.
Even in decay
The delicate white puff balls
Retain their vibrance.
Climbing up the pole
Soft ivy hugs its partner--
Green embraces steel.
Up through centuries
Ancient boulder is dreaming
Its birth in the sea.
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