Posted in Poetry

These days -significance?

None! as they merge into one

dangling good fortune

beneath a winter sun.

Here in the northern hemisphere

we play these yearly games -fear

superstition weighing us down,

i no longer believe

your even here. Alone, i count

the sheep, minutes into hours

yet, time stands still. Buds into flowers.

4 thoughts on “

    1. Wow! I like to hear that. 😂 i really never know what my words mean until someone else reads them and then, bam! They fill me in with the specifics. Thank you for leaving a comment. I appreciate you reading. 🕊

      Liked by 1 person

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