Sunday, November 13, 2011


She frets each day,

running around as if she has

more important things to do.

I’m always in clear view

and it wouldn’t take but a few

moments to quench my thirst.

I perch on this window sill

and soak up the sun.

A silent observer,

my life had just begun

but no, she could not worry about me

so I withered.

If only I’d been a tree.

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