A great big ship in an itsy-bitsy loch.
A big tall tree in a tiny tiny box.
A circle of birds with no place to fly.
A crowd full of people wondering why.
Look at the streets how they weave and wind,
Look at the loved ones left behind.
Look at the faces within the leaves,
See how they’re crushed as the summer leaves.
The world is changing, I am not.
Standing armies, vacant lots.
Exchanging glances with myself,
Wondering which is me.
(photo by: Tamara Lichtenstein)
