Sitting, my thoughts errant upon the whim
of the harps silent chord, sunlight upon spiders silk,
I ponder of how great I could have been
with relative ease if I cared for the will
to make the world great to live in
..
We are all living on it instead
and though not moles, blind to consequence
Chicken little was right after all,
the skies are destined to fall
Thanks Newton, you deserve the laurel

© Tyler J. Wiseman

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