Crunch, crunch …

Hearing the crunch … crunch

of my brown dusty shoes

on the dry cracking ground;

I wonder why?,

and look around seeing no people,

or animals, not a living thing.

Crunch … crunch, I ponder

on the roaring silence in my brain,

then I hear a bird chirping happily,

I stop and peer intensely

at an orange flowering bush,

with a tiny malachite sun bird

singing and drinking the nectar,

and suddenly I was drawn into

the happy scene until the bird

jauntily flew off,

and I began to walk in

the growing dust of our fragile world.

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