* This Morning Light *
Soft falls the morning light
Curling around the trees
Brushing across freshly turned earth
Aroma of the earth rising
A crisp freshness to the air
All is shadows or blades of golden light
Breaking through the foliage rich
Of the trees which have not shed
The loads they grew through Spring
And heavy coats and gloves mark
Commuters waiting for the train
And the constant tap tap tapping
Of hard winter heels mark another arrival
Awaiting the stalled inconvenient lateness of the train
Our breath as smoke plumes rises
And we think of warmer things
Beds left empty
Or hot cups of coffee to be tightly grasped
Tropical islands and Tuscan summer holidays
Electric four bar heaters
Or the heated wash of a hot winter soup
Progressing onward in a world globed
By hemisphere of startling gas fire blue
And kept so much alive
By the kissing beauty of sensual golden light.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment