THE HOW AND WHY
I never made it to the galley-post, I never
walked along the plank. The shoestring,
bushel-bale sailboys never even looked my
way. The men with the hammers, they just
kept busy as I passed; young construction
guys boringly infatuated with their work.
-
I brought my crayons to the match-play;
coloring on paper, writing black lines
over posterboard and tarp. Everyone
seemed happy, and so much got done :
a regular finished Archimede's wedge of
form and shape and color. But, has
anyone really heard me? My shallow
roots try hard to cling to something,
yet everyone seems a gardener with
their ever-clipping shears.
walked along the plank. The shoestring,
bushel-bale sailboys never even looked my
way. The men with the hammers, they just
kept busy as I passed; young construction
guys boringly infatuated with their work.
-
I brought my crayons to the match-play;
coloring on paper, writing black lines
over posterboard and tarp. Everyone
seemed happy, and so much got done :
a regular finished Archimede's wedge of
form and shape and color. But, has
anyone really heard me? My shallow
roots try hard to cling to something,
yet everyone seems a gardener with
their ever-clipping shears.
1 comment:
damn the gardening shearers
leave us aLONE!!!
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