Friday, November 4, 2016

Hypomochlion’s Valentine

Hushed and hunched
In my little hut
I thought I could hear
The music of at least
One sphere very clear
I thought my death was near
But strange flashing
Lights and the clanging
Of garbage trucks
Beclouded the atmosphere
In the first half of life
Everything grows on its own
But in the concluding half
It all comes home
All growth is work
We must do alone

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