Tuesday, April 8, 2008
An every day
A long tiresome sultry day
That time of the year
Pallid, humid month of May.
I bask in the shade of a tree
Birds and flowers, go about
Rehearsing their daily spree.
My time has stopped, eternity asunder
I should be working
Instead, walk on the hill, in shameless lumber.
The sun buries itself like everyday
I stop by the spring
The winds, it seems, they pray.
The night is dark, it does no wrong
I sleep sweet, sleep deep
Till dawn, Yet, wakes me along.
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