through the fence, they bloom tiny flowers facing out toward the unknown
all the things to see when sitting beside the road as time passes by
the spider’s worry is only to spin the web not what it will catch
nothing else settles in the imagination like an autumn fog
in a planned landscape we are told what to look at and how to see it
the past is what’s left behind, as we move forward shedding history
i know it’s coming . but until i see pumpkins . it isn’t autumn
we are not the crow for us, the shortest distance meanders through time
prepare each morning to be amazed by one thing and it will happen
as the geese migrate with the seasons, together they work to succeed
uptown jack 