Permanently bowed heads
Like somber penitants
Clustered close together:
A permanently mourning crowd
Encircled in bright crystal.
Dried Bouquet
Astray
“A sunbeam!” cried the mind,
And wandered on its way
Ignoring the little section
That said not to go astray.
“A rainbow!” grinned another part.
“A butterfly!” – “A squirrel!”
And thus that tiny diligent piece
Was lost within the swirl.
Digital Strings
A phone, an app:
Like digital strings
Controlling a person,
A stranger at work,
With the lure of a tip.
