the wind blows and things come and go
away, and back again,
the coin rattling in the tin of the stranger you saw yesterday,
and you find again in your dreams,
their face,
another teacher from Sunday School
asking you to donate and suddenly the light turns green, and by then,
it's too late.
You drive on by.
Head rattling with the reasons why
not and tied to thoughts like kites that
flew away on the wind.
That never came back to you as a kid.
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