rush on by

poverty strikes the

unaware. joy is a loose

blindfold.

               a child is happy 

playing in the summer rain. 

shoes getting wet. mother

worries.

             up above reality 

the dead attend funerals 

for you and I. we call it 

living. 

          one foot stuck in 

traffic, one dangling from 

the limb. a bird in smooth 

flight never falters.

                             rush 

river, rush on by. take this 

mountain down one grain 

at a time. 

                as humble as a 

bee in its social rank, we

serve a purpose. 

                          mostly

futile.

(Image from georgepratt.com)