They think, they think.
They think about all.
The small, the big.
The way that time ticks.
A glimpse of a beauty.
A pain on their foot.
The wind and trees.
Once stung by a bee.
Someone's smile.
Another's little toes.
The missed friend.
A face they never saw.
A threat to everyone and,
everything they know.
No, they don't carry a bullet.
Merely a pen.
They'll write about you.
For poetic can be anything.
Even them.
















