The Waking Poem by Roger Hadden
The Waking
I strolled across
An open field;
The sun was out;
Heat was happy.
This way! this way!
The wren's throat shimmered,
Either to other,
The blossoms sang.
The stones sang,
The little ones did,
And flowers jumped
Like small goats.
A ragged fringe
Of daisies waved;
I was not alone
In a grove of apples.
Far in the wood
A nestling sighed;
The dew loosened
Its morning smells.
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4/19/2024 5:45:10 PM # 1.0.0.1119
