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patterns of ink

How fruitless to be ever thinking yet never embrace a thought... to have the power to believe and believe it's all for naught. I, too, have reckoned time and truth (content to wonder if not think) in metaphors and meaning and endless patterns of ink. Perhaps a few may find their way to the world where others live, sharing not just thoughts I've gathered but those I wish to give. Tom Kapanka

Sunday, June 25, 2006

Summer Road









There's a road I've seen that rests between
the earth and the shade of trees,
and there he talks with the young corn stalks
that sway in the summer's breeze.


It's a lazy road who's made abode
of the hills o'r which he was laid
and stretches his spine of a white dotted line
in a cool spotted blanked of shade.

Near the end of the day when there's nothing to say
he hums to the song sparrow's tune

and watches the sun till the day is done
and then says "Good night" to the moon.

Happy Birthday, Dave and Aimee
© Copyright 1985, TK, Patterns of Ink

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