words are like breadcrumbs
we throw out a few words
scattered to the wind or grass
daily to feed the birds who will come
in time comes here the old familiar faces
also often passing stranger visiting faces
bread crumbs are shared by all visiting faces
some await tomorrow feedings will return
some never but we enjoy all flickering strangers
we wish birds fly near far new wonders in their flights
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem