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Apr 3
The only time the streets are paved
with gold is when the sun rises--
poor Dennis feels rich
old Marlys feels young
everything slow seems worth waiting for.
The birds fly north and greet the sky.
Over the streets the sun pours
like honey from the jar.
It's another day, and you doubted
you'd make it this far.
When the darkness feels too heavy,
your hands too empty,
don't forget that joy
comes in the morning.
#3030April1
Laura Slaathaug
Written by
Laura Slaathaug  North Dakota
(North Dakota)   
  310
     Ray Dunn, PoetryJournal and L B
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