Perfect blue sky, or perfect nothingness
Pretty green trees wave goodbye, short-lived man
A spire points up into the blue: confess
Your sins, or sizzle in the frying-pan!
Happy in the moment, kids whoop and run
Let out of nursery for some fresh air
Happy that adults carry their burden
Of their own future burdens, unaware
Traffic, in ant-like lines, crawls off somewhere
This mortal snapshot, its lifespan far less
Than photos, paintings or images on
The internet, is preserved here with care
Sharing this feature with Shakespeare's sonnets
Outliving the source from where it began
Tue 12 May 2009
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