The Artistic View

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

We  work below the clouds but not apart

From them.  We all are far too much aligned

Like rows in planting.  We and clouds both start

And finish endlessly.  We all are lined

Up endlessly and not like rows of wheat

And rice which end but never end, go on

And on, both fade and die, exist in neat

And not so neat arrangements.  Comes the dawn

And comes the sunset.  Clouds both come and go.

We come and go, we both.  The rows both come

And go, unnervingly.  We start and grow

In endless and unending misted thrum.

  We all, the clouds, and rows, and us . . . we pun.

    We all are separate and we all are one.