No Apocalypse On This Path

The sun still low as the blackbird sings –
cyclist sweats – the day awaits;
helicopter sounds like Apocalypse Now
but no Wagner, stetsons or napalm strikes.

No napalm strike will burn the trees
along the restful riverbank path;
he pedals for all he’s worth – I watch –
we might be the only ones

that visit this path today;
what happens when no-one is here?
Do the trees stop growing
and the river stop flowing?

Do the blackbirds stop their tuneful song
and the swifts freeze in mid-air?
There’ll be no apocalypse or tragedy
and the walkers keep whistling dogs.

But how many will stop – and listen –
to the tuneful blackbird and his song?

I wrote this poem while waiting beside a riverbank this morning : for One Stop Poetry’s One Shot Wednesday Challenge~ week 48.


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