Too bad…or is it?
Perhaps the lapwing stopped speaking.
Perhaps the hawks stopped fighting.
And the pigeons stopped kissing.
And the silence that ensued
On a still breezeless night
The trees wailed
After they had finished laughing.
An aircraft roar woke up the world.
And I laughed.
As did the trees, the cuckoos and the other birds.
Too bad Godot did not make it for the final curtains.
Too bad the play did not work that well.
Too bad we met, the way we did.
But the show still goes on.
The planet still goes around the sun.
And life still throbs through our veins.
And you and I are still breathing.
For how long though, I wonder.