The Table

 



The table 

that the blank white pieces of paper rest on

that I can feel as my hand slides over the cold surface.

The flowing lines of the tree that lived and reproduced

on the surface is cold and reflects the light streaming 

through the window.

People walking past in silence

the traffic drownuing them out.

Do they notice me? 

No I think not.

But life isn't all about me.

It is all about life on this little planet

we live on 

in the universe.


Heather


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