Working Days

Night rain
   I walk the beat up streets
Autumn mud
   Has marred my walking trance
I see each one
   They all seem glad
And no one here
   Seems old or gray
Back to work
   I find my tools dropped
I spin and polish
   Then take a rooftop glance
What kind of friend
   Would lead me out this way?
Well, he’s not here
   And wouldn’t show me anyway
Loosely inspired by the Chinese poem “蔔算子 漫興” by Xin Qiji

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