pink clouds, crescent moon
soft gray trees slowly appear
rise through morning fog
night and day, this world
a continuous factory
of beauty, handing it out
everywhere, for free
The world behaves as if
it loves this job–
to keep tapping us on the shoulder.
Impatient, distracted,
we raise our heads up from our worries
and look where the world points–
Sunflower, laughing toddler,
Rain puddle, star
Look, says the world,
There is all this, too.
Puff Of Smoke Poems 