Green leaves; berries red and blue.
Tangy yet sweet, but thorns are not good to eat.
Yet these two are the same.
In the distance, the train whistle.
Wind across my face, pumping feet on the pedals.
In the distance, the flashing red lights.
One, waiting for the light.
Two, the light turns green.
Three, I'm through the intersection.
The engines have passed by.
The power and the whistle move on, and cargo cars thunder
effortlessly.
Yet these two are the same.