Nothing is more common
than a swallow flying
into the fold of night;
fox crossing the ocean
of grass near the barn;
mama bear and her cubs
wading down the stone stairs
between my daughter's house
and mine.

They move through
a shared time,
but ours tick on wrists,
blink from computers.
It shouts at us
from the walls and halls.
We are no longer
common folk, shawled
by the rhythms of a day.

It is a trade we think we've won,
But by time will be undone.

©2017 Jane Yolen all rights reserved

Nothing is more commonthan…

by mdvfunes


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