The Red Wheelbarrow

By Reg Rumney

Not much depends on the red wheelbarrow
Not much today and little tomorrow.
The red enamel’s glazed with water. So?
The chickens, white or black, bestow
No meaning on the scene, nothing profound.
Two colours, two objects, things found
In the yard, but who or when, why or what?
Left out the picture, out the plot.
We’ll never know and simply have to guess
Or torture the symbols till they confess.

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