Wednesday, 28 November 2018

sunday morning

sunday morning 

slowly, morningly, stirring slow,
slowly flow the dreams and down
in the sun pale creeping 
through the autumn leaves,
that sleep on their sundry beds;
that sweep along the long 
slow shadows shortening, 
as the day stirs knowingly,
to ask why we ask:
why are we here at all?

No comments:

Post a comment