The Ever Shortening Days Poem by James Trusler
The Ever Shortening Days
A field of green,
Why do i sit here?
An ocean of blue,
Why do i weep here?
A sky as high as the universe,
Why do i suffer here?
Weaker than weak
Louder than silence,
The man in the swill.
Trembling with fear of the days wasted...
Sitting here.
Sweeping my song under the ever shortening days.
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4/30/2024 12:44:18 AM # 1.0.0.1119
