observations in the year 2001

money on mud ©papa osmubal

money on mud ©papa osmubal

observations in the year 2001

peter bakowski

How useful
the bucket,
the ladder,
the little white lie.

How swift
the rumour,
the pointing
of a finger,
the departure
of reason.

How brief
the life of a fly,
the life of a bubble,
the times on this earth
without war.

How beautiful
the raindrop
that is not
part of a flood.
How beautiful
to hear
the pleading
of a bully.

How precious
the shade of a tree.

How mysterious
the brain,
the soul,
the house beyond
this one of flesh.

How sudden
the twist in a novel,
the trapdoor opening,
the return to
sleeping alone.

How unwise
to take for granted
the issue of
your next breath.


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