Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Jumping Turf

Jumping turf.
Rolling over tuft.
Wading through fields.
Slicing through
depressing devastation,
souring sorrow,
bloating ego.

If only
we jumped all the time,
jumped cheerfully
in happiness and mirth,
wouldn't the earth have flattened by now
to house a race equal in all respects -
in love and creed, in day and night?

No comments: