Whimsy number 1

There are morning when a man awakes
to find that he has lived the wrong life.

All his friends are fenceposts
or have lost themselves among queues
of willow.

The soldiers came last night, they say.

They smelt our fear and made a soup of it.
Still the sparrow visits each tree, stopping to
compose a poem upon the barbed wire.

The oranges hang gladly in the orchard
behind the moss and bricks.

the rotten, rusty bucket

dreaming...