Existence

Russell Smith, ‘28

In the bright morning light, poking through the leaves of a tree,

In the delicate aroma of a freshly bloomed yellow pansy,

I wonder, do they pause for a moment or three 

And think of me? 

In the lining of rolling afternoon clouds, covering the sun with glee,

In the sound of heavy rain that catches their fancy, 

I wonder, do they pause for moment before they flee

And think of me? 

In the slow twinkle of the night stars, to a soporific haze in thrall,

In the numbing of shade used to enshroud rather than see,

I wonder, do they even pause at all 

Do they even think of me?