Walking With My Thoughts

No sooner have I asked them
to remain quiet and stay close by
than one wanders off

around the bend, toward tomorrow,
bringing back a nagging problem,
a penny’s worth of new worry

to put in my sagging pockets
as we climb this hill.
Over the top, on the left, we come upon

a group of trees
with leaves dressed in sunset,
making music with their birds

like street musicians sent from heaven,
playing flutes for tips.

With arms wrapped around my thoughts
I stop, look, and listen –
then empty my pockets

into God’s bucket
before heading home.

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