Prose or Drawing (day 41)

As the clouds roll grayly over the tips of the trees
A flower sprouts out, distorting my gaze
Lime green shoot with delicate leaves off
Yellow petals catching little rays of sunshine
In spite the meandering clouds

And a bird, sweep and sway as it goes
Following a path neither you nor I see
The lazy sound of rolling tires
Pressing heavily along the solid cement
Easily making out the cars that hit that evil pothole

But the cedar hedges all look sharp
Neatly cut last night with a dull pair of snippers
I know because I heard it happen
They cried the whole night too
Now, they look pretty and blue

Upon closer inspection of the ground I lay
A beetle crawls away, weaving a slow path
Destined for a head on collision with
That squirmy ant I see over there
Maybe they’ll become friends with one another

In all the sights I hear on my perch
All the animals I know do roam
I feel of them all luckiest to be
The one with the freedom
The voice to be me

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