… and that’s OK


no-one ever stays the same 

and that’s ok,

see

we float on rivers

flop over rocks…

 our young women gather

sparkles of silver in their hair and 

waterfalls flow over aging 

shoulders,

the man of granite slopes

into gentle hills  

where little girls pick

wildflowers,

rivers weave us 

into glens where 

sparrows knock leaves out of trees

and little boys whose cheeks are

as red as berries

say she is beautiful

oh yeah

isn’t she lovely

look how she 

flies

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