White Georgian houses

White Georgian houses in rows
Like blocks of ice cream
Against a blue grey sky.

Orange windows showing people
Warm and busy as the world
Goes on outside.

Playing a part of some sort
And richly rewarded
I suppose.

Dark arching trees and cold wind
Blowing hard with dead leaves
Scurrying across my path.

I walk outside of their world
And am privileged to watch
From a distance.

I don’t know why I’m out here
Or why they’re in there.

I know I have time to think.
I can be a master of perspective.

An observer who can watch uninvolved.
Does that give me power or insight?

Or by being outside am I just a leaf
Being blown past the machine?

A whim on the wind.

We’ve so much to give.
But give to what?

Think I’ll blow it all as a bystander.
A watcher of the flames.



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