Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Turning Over

It's not me.
Bent down low and washed up.
A torn, discarded coffee cup.
Used shoes and broken laces.
Fallen friends with false faces.

It's not me.

Time for climbing different trees.
Sinking into darkened soil.
Nesting down deep.
Shuffling through colored leaves.

And this is me.
The mellow waltzing of silky birds.
A breeze across the winter air.
A lifted, lilting, tingled feeling.
Dancing through the shaded woods.

This is me.
The sound of laundry turning.
The cement firm under each step.
A fiery, crackling, ember burning.
The warmth of spring's distant welcome.

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