I shall tell you the way I spent my day today.
For a long while,
With the nearby trees throwing shadows to cool me,
I sat on a discarded dusty tyre
On the lookout for the bus, it once belonged;
Till late evening that bus did not pass by,
My wait was a wasted effort.
Such things happen quite often, I said to myself,
That bus will come someday.
What would I know about meeting the bus, I cannot say,
But I shall have a fresh tale for you
Of a different kind
In which the roads travelled would be important
And not those who travel.
Thursday, April 8, 2021
Topic(s) of this poem: search