the evening comes to an end as march marches to end

far end of the hill

the dark clouds reach to the end
end of hill watch tower blinking red
i drive down the road with dry stream
do the seasons have relations with my heart?
or is it just a game of revolutions apart
the robins sing far somewhere
and pigeons as well hum along
tired of humans and their games
trying to retire in trees and nature
with no poker faces to make
and nothing to trouble me at all

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Written on 2024-03-14 at 03:22

Tags Nature  Poetry  Philosophy 

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