Work To Live


Each day spent here on the seventh floor, surrounded by paper and pens, it’s only my mind that wanders on a journey, past my potted plant and kitty tchotchkes, while my derriere stays firmly planted in a chair. Through the window I wander past the empty corner office across from me (one floor down) and out into the sun-filled street below to the adventures that await.

the places I could go
were it not for the job I need
to pay for it

P. Wanken

 Shared at Poems of Garden Gnomes

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