Looking, out my window,
Watching, the beginning of a new day,
The darkness of night, slowly fades,
As the morning sun rise, lights everything,
In its way, with powerful, warm rays.
The trees on the hill, on the other side,
Of Maxwell’s creek, standing so still,
The temperature around sixty degrees,
Comfortable, just a slight morning chill.
A very peaceful place, nothing but nature,
Trees and grass, no hustle, or constant race,
A special place, for me to write, where, I wrote,
My first, poem/song, still creating, twenty three years later,
A third of this life, my mind drifting, traveling,
Catching special messages in space.
The original: Tom Maxwell © 6/11/2025 AD
Jun 11, 2025
Jun 11, 2025 at 9:32 AM UTC
Looking, out my window,
Watching, the beginning of a new day,
The darkness of night, slowly fades,
As the morning sun rise, lights everything,
In its way, with powerful, warm rays.
The trees on the hill, on the other side,
Of Maxwell’s creek, standing so still,
The temperature around sixty degrees,
Comfortable, just a slight morning chill.
A very peaceful place, nothing but nature,
Trees and grass, no hustle, or constant race,
A special place, for me to write, where, I wrote,
My first, poem/song, still creating, twenty three years later,
A third of this life, my mind drifting, traveling,
Catching special messages in space.
The original: Tom Maxwell © 6/11/2025 AD
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