Dawn Of Day Poem by Louis Borgo

Hats off to another long day look among a road to make it all the

way back home,

Whistle of a Berrier the scent the smell is perhaps a candle light?

The look from the steering will of,

Tumbling stories case of books and stair cases,

Moon that rise and shine this look among the stars nick like a few

unleft steps,

What is it to with hold but in hale or follow the patterns?

The feature of the scene is mortality as plates, cups, and even the

furniture,

Which is arrange from left to right double vision any one?

This cabin holds no fever of a chill that left to be disturbed it

sparks a light,

Air tight seconds of respiration is it a guess to place hand in

pockets,

For lost change blink or continue hands gestures or continue to

revolt,

Looks among bristle of nights of a cabin house.

Buttermilk or the left of chocolate dearest?

A note left under a pillow case.

Days gone day per night who would dare to enter such a house?

Child play or a storm that pass and as one is chewing on gum,

I must say to stand firm one might hold the door just in case.

If love was a mystery and with every kiss left of a stench was the

chocolate full of with mint winter freeze any one?

Is every road of a map who could miss a house that is on a daring

path,

Days in and days out like timing a baker of a lovely holiday the

question is,

Is every holiday a holiday or just for the kids?

Moving on long days sometime days unfold on there on

And I ask what is the true definition of a wonder translation

please?

The path that one is on may be longer then previously thought

Days turn into days and night that capture

Can't help to let down the window for a cool breeze.