A smattering of May across
A canvas of September —
The angry huddle in their rage,
But the wise remember.

A package from a countertop
That’s torn and reeking —
The foolish stop to register,
But the wise keep seeking.

We seek the crowd affirming, but
We find soon how well that goes —
For there’s no place that’s lonelier
Than one that’s chock with echoes —

We ask the wind for guidance, and
It’s howls come cold and violent —
The many go where it may blow,
But the wise keep silent.

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