become as we
Sitting alone she whispered:
“I wish I had Poetry”
A passing butterfly
Offered her wings
A setting sun
Its “orange-ness”
The passing breeze
Its scented story
The croaking frogs
Their harmony
10,000 insects
A riffled hum
A distant Loon
Its eerie call
A silent Owl
Blinked
Its eyes saying
“we are poetry”
“become as we”
She no longer sits alone
Copyright © John Lawless | Year Posted 2024
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