reading sign

i need go over again,
searching carefully each clue
as to where is up
for me, for you, it keeps changing

there’s been faint trace
like a bird puff gone to wind,
aloft - the shifting of the old tree.
ground level - wind licking long strokes in lawns

stuff is old, i see it around me
don’t let me kid myself
the wind is cold by night
as day old dinner left lying on the shelf

rampant speculation leads to inaccuracies
following closely pit padding heels of worry
abandoning hurry, do softly tread,
leave no space, show nor dread.

as we race handle our duties,
scurrying about have no doubt,
in the end, as my mother said,
kid, everything always works out