Monday, December 03, 2018


Sitting alone amid the din and chatter
I think of birds chirping,
the rustle of fallen leaves
as running feet hit the ground.
When was the last time
I heard the brook whisper
unheard stories of lands it has seen?
When will I feel again
the kiss of the cool breeze on my sweaty skin?
Missing the trails while in a city
a hundred miles away I can only write lines
and wish I could run there again.

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