Wonder stops in silent march,
There goes my day of search ...
Whisk and whizz - all brisk latent fizz - do come and go in pops,
As light and shade in a crisp rose-bed, they touch and kiss my hops.
Here and there I run errands as morning draws to noon,
Light snack-munch in a yawny crunch finishes off too soon.
As away you go in aisles aside with quick steps on the floor,
I run my code in "silent mode", my back to the open door.
And thus it drags with drowsy lags to dusky afternoons,
The sun goes down in golden crown and evening starts her croons.
When darkness spreads over tinted roof I grope for "light" in vain,
Lost words of another day fills me with disdain.
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