thoughts from a forest path

stopped here once
when life was thoughtless;
lost but found,
somewhere between and astride
alive and wasting —

then, you said,
in times yet to come,
we would know,
and would feel;
but now, i’m a wooden bench,
hard and unyielding —

the green grows,
and the saplings breathe;
the wind cries
moving through,
for it has no home, nor bed,
just a restless fate

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