Roads keep on winding;
You can't always be where you want to be.
Weather always changing;
You can't always select what you want to see.
Rivers keep on flowing;
You can't put any of life's scenes on "repeat".
Words always forming;
But occasionally you have to hit "delete".
This eve,
I'm in the right place,
At the proper angle to the setting sun;
The rays linger a bit longer
On the bottom of that dusky cloud,
And it glows…
Then quickly cools to ashen gray,
Like embers in an autumn campfire.
October 2016
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem