Humble
The sunset looks pretty today;
Closing golden arms around a landscape hushed by evening,
Running pink fingertips over houses made home
By families, couples, the elderly, by one.
The hum of the washing machine cleans clothes dirtied by living;
Run the iron over creases, hang the shirt for work tomorrow,
Spread butter right to the edges, we might not notice,
But we’ll know.
So many hours spent between our windows of reality.
Outside, above, far away,
The clouds pass by too quickly.
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