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Tuesday, April 9, 2013

I stand still


I stand still

                                                 a receptacle,

                          quiet, I hear

           leaves, they sigh

                                            white cottons dangling

   whistling in sync

                           to the music

of yore

                                                    they wave, so long,

    to the cold breath

                of yester-year

they heat their

                  feet in the

                             warmth of the sun
               
                                  rinse their sweat

                                             to the foliage below

                                                           without care

                                                of where it falls

                                      and who or what

                              may drink

                  knowing only that

          its done what it

was meant to do

 

                                                          I sit here quiet

                                                          wondering what

                                                          it is that I

                                                          must do