Ramble

Ramble

Where is the wind when nothing is moving?
Does it rest in a hollow somewhere in the air?
And why ask such questions when no answers are there?

The cork and the rind left behind
with the essence of fruit eaten.
How many pips grow into a tree?
When the weather is kind,
I will sail out in  my boat on the water
from lake shore to lake shore,
and let life take me completely.
The sail on my mast white as a shred of the moon.

No talk in my mind, no contradictions,
feel free of it all, finished with fictions
bound in cold chains by negative force.
We are advised to never stop learning,
be prepared to be tested at the end of the course.

A bright but chilly March morning.
Birds in my back garden bush
for pleasure alone they high tootle and sing,
now I can safely say it is spring.
The road to summer opens.
Wonder where it will wend?
This ramble I end.

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