The Jogger

As I sit and watch
bees hover over vast grass,
I command the tinkling stream
That keeps paradise from me;
yonder bank is friendly sunshine. I see
The blades of grass
a vast army in the breeze
I march them all along.

The life of the jogger;
round he goes
as though condemned for ever
from him I draw myself: for maybe
if I tried I could run as hard
running to the start. Round in circles
does he go, passing me again.
I wait for his return
like a comet overdue
there is no sign as yet

I wait; I have my doubts,
Yes then I see him through the trees
yonder bank he runs
coming here soon.
I wonder what he thinks of me:
the insignificance of doodle?