Change Poem by james watkin
Change
Unlike other weathers, we
Never see its coming.
No horizons storm-raised, but
Out clear blues caught up in.
To have shutters latched on
A too entrenched snug care
No option blows, since by then
Unhoused will be; threadbare.
Thursday, November 29, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: changes
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8/24/2025 1:55:17 AM # 1.0.0
