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Posted by MFish

Beneath, the bluest of skies,
I pause to listen
And wonder why,
The World, was made to be,
Only as reflective,
As I might be.
In these days of
Passing time,
I would be inclined,
To drink from cups,
In slurping gulps,
A lot of wine.
I ask the question
Or may imply,
That life goes on,
Though you may die
And no one will wonder,
When time does pass,
That you end up flat,
Behind that, which must be,
From here until senility.

Of all the jobs, that had no fuss,
Was when I drove a yellow school bus.
It was a Superior body on a Kenworth frame.
A rear engine, seventy six passenger, it came,
With the drivers seat, at the front end.
When I turned a corner, I did extend
Out to the other side of the street
And that, in itself was an exiting feat.
Our job, was to pick up all kids
And take to the schools , which we did.
Afternoons, we would go to each school,
Taking them all home, that was the rule.
Dropping off the kids at homes, far and near,
When I looked up into the big mirror,
I saw this small head, above the seat,
So I went back to the Barn, to repeat
My story to my boss and he did say.
We need to take him home, right away.
It was his first day, going to school,
Missed his stop and I broke the rule.

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