Many Things Poem by Wyn Cooper
Many Things
Chapel bells a mile away,
an owl not much closer,
Johnny Cash on the radio
of a car driving by,
the neighbor's phone that rings
three times, more birds
than I will ever know,
two clocks ticking,
jet overhead screaming,
our new house settling
into damp ground.
I hear these many things
from my bed and think,
as always, of death.
Thursday, June 26, 2014
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5/24/2024 11:01:36 AM # 1.0.0.1119
