Dimming Prospects Poem by James Walter Orr

The cool night had drawn to a close,
when from my warm bed I arose.
I soon turned up the heat,
and the warmth felt so sweet,
I thought of some things to disclose.

It's not all that easy to say.
My prospects have faded away
in the gray mist of time;
now the death knell can chime
my loss of that fragrant bouquet.

Hope always springs fresh in one's breast:
a saying I've grown to detest,
though it grows like a weed,
with profusions of seed,
the end result leaves me depressed.

My spirits may rise with the sun.
The daylight has scarcely begun.
New seed still need sifting.
My focus is shifting
to feelings that leave me undone.

Some girls wander far from the herd.
That's something that's often occurred,
where life's breezes have blown
her out there, all alone:
unseen, with her voice still unheard.

New flowers will blossom each day,
in sweet aromatic display.
Though they look to the sun,
when it’s over and done,
life's currents may send one this way.

Warm honey tastes good on the tongue,
the same if you're old or you're young.
The attachment will grow,
as the sweet juices flow.
Its laurels will always be sung.