spring arrives again
left not knowing
what to say to anyone
about these thoughts
the ones that rattle the mind
standing still then moving
the pen sideways
until the page is covered
with scribbles of all shapes and sizes...
probably never be one of those
classic poets read by millions
but you never know
the wind may change this ant hill
into a mountain
how ever the saying goes
and more hours pass like minutes
tomorrows keep coming
despite any resistance
he puts up an umbrella
in the rain and somehow
still gets wet...
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