Sitting beneath a Willow tree, it's leafy fingers engulfing me;
I watch the time slip by like sand, falling through this author's hand.
A bird calls to me, saying Hi,and telling me he might drop by
for some conversation, then, he'll be flying off again.
What do you know? Why nothing at all;
it's hard to learn much, from a world so small.
Small-minded people, small-minded man,
from small-minded thinking is where I ran.
What do you want? It all I'm afraid.
Like doing nothing all day, but still getting paid.
I want to write stories that stretch the mind,
like losing a day you never could find.
I said goodbye and my friend flew away,
perhaps he went in search of that day.
I wrote this for a creative writing course in college...I've not written a poem since. Many stories, articles, and several novels; but not a single poem. I'm not sure why, I love poetry, and this one I know so well I could recite it for a crowd (and I'm terrified of public speaking). When I read it or say it now, I feel as if I could have written it yesterday. It's timeless for me, which is not true of many other writings from my early years. What do you think? Should I keep this as my solitary poem or give it another go?
Thanks @therealpaul for giving me the knowledge on 100% power-ups.