No need to water flower beds.
We’ll sit and watch the shoppers dash,
We’ll watch the swallows dodge the drops:
The day will pass with nothing lost.
We know the way the branches dance:
The wind blows up the street (not down).
The cat will curl between the pots,
And twitch and mutter through her dreams.
We know the patterns of the hours:
The shadows round the basil plants.
We know the moods of sleep and food,
And change (which hardly ever is).
I read a book on pointless wars
And wonder: what does all this mean?