Idle Nowhere

Piloting all day
Through passes
And mountains

Dense woods
And hills
Giving way
To a plains

Where the grass
Is dead
Unless it follows
Flowing water

Couldn’t stop
At the edge
We had to tilt
Into the valley

Where valley people
Have so little
To do but build
Their own cities

Harvest their amnenities

 

Filed under: July Era (III)