Thoughts On A Sunny Day - Poem by Gillian Commerford
I lie on the grass
and watch the wind
carrying birds on its back.
The sky is like the inside
of a fragile blue egg-
a child stuck bits of cotton wool to it.
The sun pricks my legs on top
the grass pricks them beneath.
By lying here I am killing
if not thousands
of living things.
Does God feel like this? -
The responsibility of so many lives
of so many deaths.
Should we pity God
whose breath brought us life
whose thought brought us death?
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