Coincidence

The professor called it

Coincidence,

The drifter said,

It’s a sign,

I’m still thinking about it,

How things sometimes align.

Poinsettias still red

Well into May,

Small bird tapping

At the break of day,

Seven seagulls swooping

In air force formation,

Lone raven watching

Without an ovation.

Do the trees ever sense

The picture now showing,

Are things going on

With us never knowing?

Stephen Nesbitt©