In Order To Be Sane

A quiet call born of wind The rustling needles sound, A hard chair of stony set Cooler than dirty ground. A raven’s throaty call is head And endless birdy chirps, Beyond that silence evermore So much better than work… Below a shepherd’s happy bark Faint echoes made of words, Illusions broken instantly By another of the world. But frustrated I cannot be ‘case who am I to blame, Another who will seek the wild In order to be sane.