Thoughts near a olde towne square

I saw Piet Mondrian's trees  standing bravely in the wind and shivered. They were rooted in goodness.


The wind lost its howl,
The cold - its bite.
Through endless alleys
My search's all right.

Small change - my pleasure,
Soft hues - my strides.
And yet, I grapple
With a fire too bright.


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