Friday, 26 September 2008


Cars rush hurriedly along busy roads
Beeping and winding
Bobbing in and out of traffic
Never seeing what they pass
Then quiet unexpectedly
It stops
To a slower pace
In our metal boxes we are prisoners
Is it the universe
Getting us to slow
Hoping our minds will follow
But there are no rose to stop and smell
On the motor way
Except in my mind

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