Swung in the breeze
And is it a waste to while and wonder
the unworked idle hour
to sit and stare as clouds shift, shadow
snowy Canigou sparkling
most of the way to Spain
or watch small birds fly in, fly out
(who told them of sunflower seeds?)
suspended, hung in the breeze
What then if I catch it, tether and pin it
preserving the moment in amber?
Forever the clouds, the snow shine, the birds
suspended, swung in the breeze.
January 22nd 2020 Hounoux
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