What gave again.
Like a chime unheard.
We don’t speak or listen.
Like the phone you hear ringing.
Yet the reciever never moves in it’s cradle.
We look but don’t really see or comprehend.
Often silently questioning, Is it the end?
There’s an apple tree which ages as apple tree’s do.
It bears no fruit and so the apples never get a chance to fall far from the tree.
There’s questions I alone can’t answer.
Questions about you and me.
©G.P Williamson 2017