The Sprinkler

My morning walk takes me through the city park,

Fresh light, warm coat, preface to a long day’s work.

The gardener with his spring hose gifts me a sprinkled glance

A hint of deviation, 

The day could be made a whole lot longer from an off hand soaking 

Instead, he stays in line

And so in line I stay too, and sit for five with cosy feet

A moment enough to write this out

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