I liked the first part of the first stanza of my daily poem by Marilyn Krysl.
Looking back now, I see
I was dispassionate too often,
dismissing the robin as common,
and now can't remember what
robin song sounds like. I hoarded
my days, as though to keep them
safe from depletion, and meantime
I kept busy being lonely.
It makes me think about how often information and understanding comes into my life and how quickly I can let it leave sometimes under the cover of being preoccupied with all the stuff. I, too, hoard my days for a number of reasons.
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