float the idea

there is a blue tit on the sill,
studying his reflection,
unconscious of my watching,
caring not for my admiration.

he has reached perfection
in his ways, and means.

the sky beyond is blue
flecked with tiny clouds,
the first whirring leaves
of autumn, begin to fall.

so i look at my hands
and float the idea of leaving,
consider each day is a day of ageing,
and as the blue tit flies
to an opposing tree,
i am stuck with my memory
and with me.

float the idea

uncleblack

Joined February 2010

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