How easy it is to sit here on this bench made of wood,
scribbling away in my notebook.

The moonlight on my side, begging me to forget,
convincing me to anticipate something beautiful.

Three geese drift by a stones throw ahead of me,
their tiny motors hidden beheath the lake.

I smile as the frontman slowly turns to me;
acknowledging my foreign presence, content on leading his troops.

And I am amazed that the soft ripples of water
still vibrate in the same, perfect way as usual.

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