Treasure Island

Is It Poetry

(1958 - / Bus-Boys And Poets, Washington D.C.)

Sunrise


Sunrise comes as dusk to one like me.
The orb its yellow eye a star set high.
Moving trees sit open I can see their leaves.
Should the story end before it's told?

Would they if they could turn back
each hand of time
the seconds like the clouds float by.

Nature is the swing
it's no surprise at what most dream.
Dreaming of the day like yesterday.
Children climbing trees to pet a squirrel.

Pockets filled with nuts one brings to me.
Yesterday, tommorow hides today.
Climbing down the trunk I hold her hand.
I see the look upon her face it says.

Lifes to short we sleep to long,
the rest just fade away and sing no song.

Submitted: Tuesday, March 25, 2014
Edited: Wednesday, March 26, 2014

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Topic(s): green

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