The first time I remember
Us ever stopping here,
It was day nothing like this:
'Twas warm, and bright, and clear,
And the whole place was buzzing with
Such pure activity
As was a kind of marvel to
A tiny kid like me.
For when you see things being cooked,
And served, cut up, and eaten --
See syrup poured from bottles,
Coffee creamered, stirred, and sweetened --
It makes you feel some kind of way.
A different kind of health:
To see the world -- your place in it --
And know you have
A self
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Tagged: Tags Poetry
Published by Beleaguered Servant
Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.
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