A poem a day, a painting in three
Barefoot I stand in the shade of a tree,
A river of thought, I ponder with heed
Every drop passes, throwing back the lead.
An alarm I set, as many of you
Before I sleep, yet nothing is true,
If we wake up, we will go through the day
To set another, in the same old way.
Each second passes, as the drop that flows
In that river, it never again shows,
By duty then, as if we are compelled
We shall drink of every drop withheld.
This poem is a thought, with wings unbound
That you will more often sense around,
I drop my ink, and my colours across
The river of thought, ere I sail and cross.
