Literary Yard

Search for meaning

By: Milt Montague

SlowLane

weeks flow past in peaceful anonymity
no thoughts to disturb the serenity
I sit alone amidst my greenery
life pulses in the slow lane

surrounded by my green friends
the philodendrons and pothos
need but water and sunlight
in front of a large window

to wait and vegetate
slowly very slowly

one day an idle thought
intrudes most gently
becomes insistent
sound the alarm

a great new idea to explore
quick, to the computer
see if this evolves
into a poem
of worth

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