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To draw back the blinds and look to the sky
To see the treetops relishing the play of the breeze
To think you are a visitor here in a novel
or a piece of melody wasted by the choir . . .
A soft bed is worth the sky
Waking up free is worth a year of life
Then, from your room in a high-rise hotel, you look down
upon the roofs, the satellite dishes and the treetops
and ask yourself, What’s the meaning of trees swaying amidst concrete buildings?
despite the treetops being your only remaining joy
and your sole consolation.
Pass onto midday
—which you call morning, you day sleeper—
Life awaits you.