POEM: Chaste Tree

I can’t help but chuckle and shake my head on many a daze as I observe folks chasing sparkly objects with such apparent vigor. I can’t help but peer as a fool myself, where my attention is rapt, as you can’t chase a tree — it simply stands firm and gently waves.

Chaste Tree

He knew what
He wanted
How could he
No that
Awe things that glitter
Are not goaled
That dogged attention
Is worse
Then bite
To off then
All that jitters
Is not goad
Eternal objects
Passing subjects

Plus, I prefer carrots, not sticks.

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