Teacher teacher, may I ponder
what is there truly left to wonder
what do you make from this thought lake
this reflection pond
many of us are heavy stones we are sunk
and light leaves they blow and linger on the surface
Getting a taste of the water on the way through their autumn
Flicking off with a gust of Wind
Teacher why is the moving living world so hypnotic
And the bleached city streets so dull
Have our eyes too been bleached to see only grey
Should we sheepishly believe life is but a delay?
So many of us have become rolling rocks that colide
accumulating to one side
all with the same goals as the floating autumn leaves
as stationary as our houses stalled on the shore
To be spectators of the graceful leaves
forever more
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