On the green, soft grass

in the shade, under an oak

blue sky, pictorial clouds

I sit resplendently inactive

in body and mind

> 

Could anything be

more beautifully pointless

Even the rapids in the river

have greater meaning in their roar

> 

From crib to coffin

and the existence in between

I’ve seen too much of life

and yet I haven’t seen enough

> 

Seagulls drop criticisms

on the pages of my poetry

Biodegradable white-out

editing my words

> 

A safe distance away

a family picnics

“Mamam” cries the small child

“La glace a fondu”

I turn and thank the child

for the name of this poem