when the chalk dies,
does the paper go with it?
do those shooting stars &
curly-cues
float away, land in Heaven
for dusty beings?
do the words die,
smeared, driven over, rain-erased
& long-forgotten by other playthings?
does the paper
become an imagination somewhere
else?
i wonder.
2 comments:
I like the whimsicality of this little poem.
i like it, too, and i like the word "whimsicality".
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