" The Scene"

 The Scene

The scene that I look out upon has never slightly changed

And, yet, somehow, and, often, it is all so rearranged

As if a thread were pulled and all the fabric were let loose

And, then, a magic hand would thread it back for my reuse

Or, like kaleidoscope that jumbles all within its view

A shattering of broken glass that slowly does ensue

Becoming more, each day, each year, as time does slowly pass

That brightens through the window's view, a well-defined stained glass