London Poem: Day 178

11 February

Slow sloping hills
Shape the landscape,
And push us in toward
The appropriate path.
One dictated by nature.
We follow the line, our
Heads peeking upward,
Then down.
Back and forth,
Like rolling waves
Breaking, those heads
Lead us to follow nature –
To follow our blood.
But, what is blood but
Easy moving rivers
To force us to
Whatever ends awaits us?

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Published by

keelancrampsey

In flux

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