Short poem on the joy of simple things
“Folded neatly,” my mother said. The sheets hang on the line Smelling of warm Spring sunshine and blossoms. As I approach I see them Alive, flapping in a sudden Breeze, breathing in the Fresh air, Opening their Pores to welcome the sun. It seems a pity to take them down, Suppress their joy. I don’t want to neatly fold. I want to sit and enjoy Their delight in the day.
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