They would have loved to come in droves
As we sat watching flighty doves,
This good old Sikh behind his house
At Sugar Pine Court pined like a mouse
Contemplating peace that cloudy afternoon
Dreaming the sun peed peace here on earthly spoon
For the world to sip with pipes underground
Black gold running the ship of peace aground
This took our good old Sikh again behind
The house to scoop humans out of the bind;
In quiet meditation nodding to the world
Such abysmal nod that’s devoid of a word.
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