Having Fun
A paper in one hand, a pen in the other,
I lay back, trying to take a breather.
My pen, after ten, was still in the air,
The clock struck 12, but it was still there.
The paper flew away as it grew impatient,
Angered by the fact that it was not even written.
It fluttered away, behind my back,
As if trying to escape a collector’s net.
It landed with a thud below my chair,
Triumphant that I cannot get there.
I reached with my hand, to catch this crafty prey,
To find the winds helping it again.
It escaped my grasp by gliding through the window,
Away towards the endless meadow.
I wanted to see, who its next owner might be,
So I walked towards the window, thinking of it.
I stood my ground, unjustified by this bizarre theft,
I looked up the sky and took a deep breath.
And I think to myself:
What a wonderful day!