books lie open
scribbled on
photostated papers
top the desk
carpet peeps through
discarded drafts
I walk out
and down the woodchip path
where the swamp has dried up
and the council has
mown down the tall reeds
two ducks bob
on the grey river
and quack in concrete thought
I smile at their directness
a lesson to be learnt
if this day is not to be wasted
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