Poems of Brian Maloney
To My Posterity
Standing in a moment where the birds ride on a gale.
The sinking sun has just begun to let darkness make colors pale.
Sensing something in the air, I sigh as I exhale.
All around I feel the night describe to me its lively tales.
Sitting in a moment where the sun’s now dipped beneath.
The fireflies accent the trees as they gently ride the breeze.
When I die, I can think of one thing I bequeath;
the lullaby that crickets cry from sitting in the summer’s heat.