Tranquility Bay, here.
The Eagle has landed.
The Eagle has landed.
It’s a city fair
A city rare
Which once was quite contrite
For him
Like a rising tide
They come
In ripples
But every now and again
The sun shines through
For weeks, or months
Smokey atmosphere
Acrid in my nose
Stinging my eyes
Clogging my lungs
“I’ll have to go get some sealant,” her husband had told her.
“But that will ruin the paint,” she replied, with an emotion that surprised her. “I don’t have any more.”
“You have to fix it before it gets out of hand.”
“But it’s such a small crack!”
He paused.
Bird song, children’s laughter and a bicycle