Hours Lost

another Friday
buried with the week
hours lost
that will never be repaid
a train yard waiting
carriage and engines scattered
far too big to play with
an evening sky painted
with an artist’s brush
a salmon coloured moon
reflects a dying sun
gradually turning white
and the train must stop
at every station
my thoughts too tired to
take advantage….
and finally the sun embraces
the earth
like butter spread on
brown bread

By Paolo Michell


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