Dew and birdsong
are two of the words
that came to mind
when I woke up blind
to clouded sun
slivers through slits
of the parted shades
following fits
of fruitless sleep.
The wetly kissed paths
with lines of living
or withered grass
and robin cardinal
whistle, hopping
limb to branch
wondering if walking
isn't so bad though
I've never been on a plane.
I would have seen
the sunrise this morning
but clouds and trees
obscured my yawning
eyes and so did
the crows, staccatos
in skies that are really
pretty pretty anyway.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 12:50 AM UTC
Dew and birdsong
are two of the words
that came to mind
when I woke up blind
to clouded sun
slivers through slits
of the parted shades
following fits
of fruitless sleep.
The wetly kissed paths
with lines of living
or withered grass
and robin cardinal
whistle, hopping
limb to branch
wondering if walking
isn't so bad though
I've never been on a plane.
I would have seen
the sunrise this morning
but clouds and trees
obscured my yawning
eyes and so did
the crows, staccatos
in skies that are really
pretty pretty anyway.
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