This is not a poem

This is not a poem

If this was a poem,

I would extensively describe

The walks I take every Sunday

But this is not a poem

If this was a poem,

I would talk about that old

That old and creaky street light I pass

That goes on and off every few minutes

I would in detail paint a picture

Of that beautiful jacaranda tree

That has one large branch

Hanging right below the old street light

If this was a poem, I would write about

How beautifully and lazily the branch sways

When the light comes on, and a little wind blows,

How It creates the most splendid shadow images

 On the dirt ground below the street light

Oh how I would write about

That rhythmic sway of the shadows

The perfectly orchestral silent music it produces

Its most beautifully choreographed dance on the dirt ground

Oh if only this was a poem