Each day a tune
of non-being.
Not of death or
summers collapse.
But to stand above
those high floating birds.
And watch the
insects run and run.
My life mirrored
in the days glory.
Clouds breaking up
Each day a tune
of non-being.
Not of death or
summers collapse.
But to stand above
those high floating birds.
And watch the
insects run and run.
My life mirrored
in the days glory.
A Wandering Poet 