Extraordinarily Ordinary

Poetry

Another day goes by yet another one,

then another one and another one.

It’s a transference of life,

as one’s born, one dies,

another comes, then another’s gone.

If so it’s its finite nature, that’s the beauty of time, how one holds wonderful dreams for such ordinary lives.

Despite the best laid plans of mice and men,

we are all just another one, before some other one.

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