I notice how finches bend delicate
dandelion stalks to get at the seeds.
I notice how the cat sniffs the air
before she ventures outside.
I notice the oak sheds more & more leaves
& the patterns into which the wind whirls them.
I notice the sun
rises later each morning.
I know that soon the sun will reverse track.
I know that one day I will not be here to see that happen.
But let it be known,
here was another man who noticed things.
I wrote this poem in early June last year. I relate to Hardy, love his novels and his poetry. What is there more to say.
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