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She snatched the newspaper out
Of my hands, saying, "Stop your
Complaining." She brought me
Outside to the warmth of the sun,
To the wind-ruffled trees, and said,
"Tell me now what you have seen
In the news that has any significance
Here, where we are," and I thought,
"Not a thing." We sat down on the
Lawn, and this planet, my part of
It, proved to be calm, not at all
Like the places I'd fretted about
In the paper she'd taken away.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 18 times
Written on 2012-04-24 at 15:06

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