Fear
there is this fear
about how things move past us
a chick turning into a chicken
it lays an egg
and more eggs and hatch into chicks
in a moment
you sit there unmoved
left out like a stone on a river bed that went dry
last summer
come spring
the tight buds burst into flowers
you sit there unmoved left out like a rusty gate diminishing
its body on the seashore.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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