A poem

The Piece of Paper

My life
Is a piece of paper
Blown in an ever-changing wind.
The paper flies in all directions.
One can see the writing on the paper,
But one cannot see how much writing
Or how full of writing the paper is.
One will not know for sure
Until the paper lies still on the ground,
So that one may pick it up
And examine it.


Mood: tired

Book:  HIGH FIDELITY  by Nick Hornby

Song:  “Albert Flasher”–The Guess Who.

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