In The Middle Of This Wood

In the middle of this wood
I should
Be able to forget my care.

Fresh air
Is there
And the sun is high
In the cloudless sky
Yet I …

A plane flies by,
Then another one.
Perfect silence has gone.

For modernity we yearn
Then turn
Away.
When each day
Is full
Of dull
“Opportunities” to try …
I cry
Out for the old.

One can not hold
On to the past
But when the future is vast
Supermarket aisles
(where there are no denials
And one is free
To be
Anything or anyone),
I wonder where meaning has gone.

I linger here
As thoughts drear
Contend with birdsong.
I shall go ere long
Back to the street
Where a myriad feet
Have been,
But have they seen?

The pig does merely eat and drink.
Sometimes I think
That he
Has the advantage over me.

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