I found a ten dollar bill on the staircase today.
No, it wasn’t free.
It was folded at odd angles and it got in my way.
I stared at it; it wasn’t free.
I picked it up, then, and gave it to you.
Maybe now, then, it can be free?
The note wasn’t green, but a dark shade of blue—
It will never be free.
Now that it’s yours, we’re free to talk,
But don’t talk to me about being free.
Tell me, when the leaves escape from the tree,
And are then trampled into the ground,
Are they really free?
No comments:
Post a Comment