It does not add up on some days

The drone goes on ‘tween the ears.
Existence is bare heads bobbing up

On a blue space beyond spiked gate.
A mere serious girl clicks her shoes

On waking ground in oval motion
And midnight’s crows pierce night

Awaiting  tomorrow’s early dawn.
A seller man sits under  lake tree

Spills beans in red and blue bags.
It does not add up on some days.

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