The Earworm
Yesterday, as I walked along the river path
a fresh north wind making a liar of the sun
which was giving the appearance of warmth
but not delivering, I paused for a while:
I had begun this walk along with Mr. Davis;
Miles;
Remembering April,
appropriate company
as it was April, and his brisk tempo
kept beat with the swirling water.
The sound, the sun, the wind
making you feel like you did as a child
when you wanted to spin and spin and spin;
your arms outstretched; crazy
like you would never stop.
That was before the earworm.
Which, unless I can get rid of it
means I'm going to plod home
for five hundred miles
and for five hundred more.
Copyright © Terry Miller | Year Posted 2021
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