0377 Should Be, But

I should be writing a poem about those small wisps of white cloud moving unusually fast across a blue blue sky on their way to somewhere else as if they're late for an appointment. I should be writing a poem about the way the breeze is so gentle that it seems to have a secret plan with the sun and the new green leaves to do something quite extraordinary. I should be writing a poem about the way that the trailing geranium leaves are giving out a scent more white than green more heavenly than any thought. I should be writing a poem about the way that the purple and blue and yellow and white flowers seem to say nothing but beauty. I should be writing a poem but all I can do is gaze in amazement at what I've seen before and never seen before.