As I look aimlessly upon life,
Birds are happily chirping
Amongst the trees, never seem to be in strife.
The clouds move briskly,
Giving a sense of mystery
Upon the set I find.
Such a small pigment of life itself,
Yet thoughts are so domineering
Occupy; if only.
Such a sense of security one has,
Others could quite honestly envy;
Yet the clouds set through,
Causing such a stir.
Yet life could be so much clearer,
It should be, if the clouds would move once more.
Then the sun would reappear.
That would be too easy
And as I look upon life aimlessly,
Life itself is never.
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