This is a tree that creeps into our garden from next door.
We are very close, the tree and I. Closer than the neighbour and I.
Look , it is saying , it is a beautiful day. Look, I am saying, posting this,
it is a beautiful day.
The sun is shining, the sky is blue, spring has burst in.
It is a beautiful day. Look, I am in the garden, listening to the children
up the street playing in their own gardens. It really is a beautiful day.
But the tree, only, and the sky and the sun believe this is a beautiful day.
This is not a beautiful day. These are not beautiful days.
I look at the tree and the blue sky, I listen to the children, and I think, oh
I wish I was not here , in this place, in this moment.
I wish I could go to another place , another moment , when the spring is done , and maybe
the summer too. When I can walk down another street, hear other children play, maybe
watch the leaves fall off the trees, as autumn creeps in.
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