MONEY
The practical life eludes me
...the dishes to be washed
are plastic or paper
stuck with crust
in a rubbish bin
...when buds give forth
their bloody eruptions
or in winter's icicles
frozen at the drip
...either way...I stuff my head in a pillow
watch the garden's window
through the corner of my eye
and dream those dreams of a soulful heaven
and rise at two
and lie down at eleven
and fall asleep
to a lullaby.
Sam Silva © 2015
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