I don’t know,

Which I like more.

The cobblestone street, …

It’s not clear,

Where some roads begin,

Or eventually end. …

Thoughtful,

Worried faces,

Are what I now see, …

Worn out wooden benches,

Hold a special charm.

Like tall colorful tales, …

Wise old words,

Carved in stone.

But they too, …

Sometimes,

There’s little to do,

But contemplate, …

A strange old house,

With a rope,

Pulley, …

So many,

Over there,

Far away. …

Staring at the sky,

The bee whispered,

“Smile, …

There too are secrets,

Hidden among the leaves.

They are the jewels, …

Leave something behind,

Be remembered,

Matter. …

To understand,

Accept,

Or walk on by. …

I’ll float along the river,

With other seekers,

To places I haven’t seen, …

Eyes do speak,

Even in animals,

Hanging on doors, …

Faded,

Cracked,

Walked upon and worn, …

The storm looms,

But the birds,

Do not move. …

Some things far away,

I can clearly see,

But don’t recognize. …

So many things,

For the eyes to see.

But it is that smile, …

To swim with the fish,

Fly with the birds,

Or in silence linger, …

On some days,

Words do not arrive.

So I begin to think, …