I’m never sure what this is,

…not really


Or not poetry

Some would say it is

Some would say not


I use the word, sometimes

Far too often


There I am

Letting go of

What might be

Or might not be


As sure as sand

On the shore

This is a thought

Following another

Until here I am

Landed on the windy hilltop

And stop

Of a sudden

To wave at the waving


Waving back at me

I take a picture

And jot a few lines

To make Van Gogh’s

Canvas treasure

Ever so real

Then I giggle

As they wiggle

In the south wind

They don’t need me

To make them real


It’s the other way round

And it’s me

That need them

To wave in the wind

Reminding me, that

I’m real too ….


ellie894 May 14, 2020

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