are the skeins of My wrapt mind
are the mirrors that look within

I see
an ant trying to carry a leaf home
I Lie
and laze and watch the wonder around me

What is the simple pleasure of the growing consonance
has that dissonance gone?
The warblings of songbirds,
the thrush was never endeared to Me

I like the blood red of the Cardinals better
a pair always
came to My window each morn
as I lay half-asleep and strewn in My bed

The rancours
of the night before reeking and dank in the room
I looked
at them trilling and bending and saw that the love they shared
was My envy

and then one day they stopped coming
I never knew why?

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