Absent
The wind tells a story we can not understand.
We know the number of many but not the grains of sand.
Nature is so similar to the creation of man.
Only if we can be as peaceful and humble as they can.
This poem is small but very little will understand.
Except for the man who contemplates the nature of the land.
Copyright © Elliott Bowe The Drunken Poet | Year Posted 2012
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