But nowhere at all to sit
There is a pond of pure black reflection
But nowhere in sight to sit
An artist, or photographer
With his aunt or mother
Seeks to find the perfect angle
Though he knows of nowhere then to sit
I did not dodge my responsibilities
Think I
As the pregnant girl walks by
I did catch the water droplets
Think I
As they hung in slow suspension
There are ice creams of many flavours
With many tables at which to sit
There is a gift shop with fine papers
But no matches, for the redundant fire-pit
A writer or philosopher
With his lover or muse
Seeks to find a genuine entrance
Before choosing where to sit
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