thirty poems number eleven

fork no spoon

a fork in the road, wrong way round

no spoon anywhere in sight

moving from many to few, fewer

no doubt that memory leans, however

who decides what page gets read aloud

feet sweetly shuffle dust, we go

4 thoughts on “thirty poems number eleven”

Really love that last line.

Mmmm. THIS: “feet sweetly shuffle dust”
Yes. I think I shall go a-wandering.

neil reid says:

2023-05-06 at 1:53 am

smiling. so many considerations, then in the end, we choose, we go. thanks

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4 thoughts on “thirty poems number eleven”