droves, herds of them,
pass me by while time does too.
I sit on my porch.
feathered quill in hand,
beer at my side.
And watch.
A wave, a smile,
ut yet they pass.
Do I expect more of them?
But of course not.
For I am a watcher.
As much as I am
loathe to admit it,
that is the lot that
Fate has cast for me.
So I sit and watch.
Bottled beer in hand,
quill at my side.