Growing On

And if you find yourself
In a peculiar place
Where the sky
Is rather grey
And the land
Exceedingly bare
And the walls
Growing mould
And the floor
Creaking alarmingly
And the ceiling
Seeming as if it could fall.
Soon.

Don’t stay there.
Don’t linger.
Walk on, my friend.
Walk away to better climes.
Move until the floor
Becomes stable,
The roof stronger,
The sun brighter in the sky
And the land fertile.

For there are more and better places out there.

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