Trees are also alive

Why the fall in the garden
all lost to spring's flurry,
why the constant strain
behind curtains in flight?

It is but the coming of I,
endlessly forfeiting
the meaning of analysis,
scurrying in the shadows.

The distance from here to it
is like a quantum leap,
an ontological survey
of all one can observe.




Poetry by Bob
Read 460 times
Written on 2011-04-06 at 22:22

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