I hear the wood pigeons.
Too many hours not at work.
Tick, tick, tick, the declaration.
But nobody hears, who has a watch that makes that noise?
Absence of audible tracking regardless, time moves by.
No, not too many hours.
Or too many minutes without sixty seconds' worth of distance run.
Reading, just reading.
The runners only on the page.
Until the book is put aside.
And the wood pigeons carried on their important work throughout.
Tumbling through branches.
Idleness placed in context, though not to many.
For official/internal use only:
7373
0-9
No comments:
Post a Comment