Thursday, May 4, 2017

Squawking Valentine

The semi-automatic way every day
Fills with things that must be
Done today and will either
Get done or left for another day
Time is the thrasher with his hooked bill
Scratching in the long grass for grubs
Always busy on task yet elegant
Until he tries to speak just squawks
But thinking is listening to many voices
Not just your own and asking
Out of what heart
Could such a cry be issued
If not to warn of time’s
Worst harm to kill
The timeless thing
With things to do

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