Sometimes there’s nothing
but the birds singing to the sunrise.
Sometimes there’s nothing
but the hum of machinery in distance.
Sometimes there are no words
to fill the space between the margins.
Sometimes there are no words
for festooning of ideas floating by and by.
Sometimes there are no ideas
which present themselves in a lyrical way.
Sometimes there’s no idea
how this time in quiet is so fleeting.
Sometimes it’s good, just then
to remember how fortunate we are.