In an age of emptiness
in the ways of nonsense
the meaning of life
has become meaningless

If we stand
do we each alone ?
Single thoughts under
single days and nights

"The fertile fallow furrow
fleeting under flurries of
freshly fallen snow "

. . . . . . for sure . . . . . . .

And we are the huskless stalks
shivering in the wind
row upon row
thousands upon thousands
going no where
and no where to go