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To All Things Small

A fog horn calls from a distance

over caving gravel road

tarred with oil stained rings.


A faraway morning bird sings

the song of destiny.


Who is this earth for?


Is it for the tree landing bird or the newly paved man-made road?


Who serves who?


Are man's failures a win for birds?

Or is man's evolution the ultimate demise for earth?

So much still to be learned

or choose to close the eyes and not champion.

Living is a dream with commotion lurking.


What I’ve learned is to live small like a bird.


Their song though readily heard

sings from within shaded tree limbs

where they are less likely to be disturbed.





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