Sitting Down Poem by James McLain
Sitting Down
When it ends, it is near the end.
If it is up the hill then it is divided.
Sitting down,
I look at it a little more closely.
If it is ringed tightly in death,
then by your hand, hide my head.
So many times I saw you in song.
And long on your face the lakes surface.
I like the sound of the chiming clock.
Tell me when can you inquire how to build it?
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5/6/2024 11:29:50 PM # 1.0.0.1119
