Seventy-four days – Time to write a poem.
This is another found poem of sorts. Please see the attributions.
How important is it?
If I had a song,
My very own song,
An earth song,
I would be dancing on my own,
without a care in the world.
Are you listening?
The magical tune of the river tells us
It is hopeful in a time of confusion.
But wait I still hear some craziness.
I still feel like I am in the dark.
Wait a minute.
or is it an hour, a year or just seventy-four days?
I too am beginning
to see the light.
Photograph by Melba Christie
Man of many thoughts, keithgarrettpoetry
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