Lines On A Bench

It is so easy
To while away
An hour or two,
And consider
The horrors
Of being
Productive.

But what
Is more thrilling
Or
Richly enchanting
Than musing upon
This great miracle
That daily
Assaults us?

Chores clamour
And claw
Our hungry selves
– ravenous fiends –
Setting aside time
Is a way
To keep lean.

Engaged in the act,
Laughter echoing
Across the park.
The tenderness
Of love,
Stilling the dark.

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Filed under Love, Philosophy, Poetry, Thoughts

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