A heap all around
************
Broccoli’s sponge in summer,
will never be same with murmur,
amidst all hands and touches,
uncouth and hurried stitches;
visit in garden a pleasure sane,
no longer same midst rules bane,
when Nature wears mask crude
in isolation and rapid waste accrued.
Your heart rudimentary loss,
Sees like seer envisions dross,
How long is question cross
Sounds now and often digress
for those life is a gambling,
catch and live and lure rambling,
you are struck in passivity,
in earnest full of objectivity.
Leaping high to catch yard of sun,
Your dream never knows it is fun,
Yet a mound of heap all around,
Propels non stop despite some home bound.
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