I do not know the meaning of time,

I do not know the meaning of time,
I roll it off my tongue, flippantly, and await
one who’ll meet my eye.

Morning colors come greet me in the quiet
and I sneak passed a sparrow who will flutter in the bushes,
accosted by the weight of my talk.

Yet I have no choice but to carry on;
let it all fall down from my shoulders
and land softly by my side.

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