Cluttered
Peering through my window,
I cup my hands to see
Mr. Roy G. Biv.
Haplessly strewn about
within a backdrop of “trees.”
My eyes strained, as
I took it all in:
“nature’s”
random.
I discovered a reflecting pond of me
I stepped back,
tried the brass knob (one more time),
and wondered:
Where is my key?
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