This was written in the dark.
Whispered in the night.
It was wished upon a rising sun,
Released in morning light.
Less a poem than a prayer,
A whimper more than scream.
Born as naked hope and watered,
Grown from faint idea to dream.
Now the sound of summer coming;
Breezes rustling greening leaves,
Leaves us knowing things as growing,
Be it flowers, crops or trees.
Painless birth from earth to air,
Summer; springtime's daughter
Laughs and sings to sunkissed things,
Wet with broken water.
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 8:20 AM UTC
This was written in the dark.
Whispered in the night.
It was wished upon a rising sun,
Released in morning light.
Less a poem than a prayer,
A whimper more than scream.
Born as naked hope and watered,
Grown from faint idea to dream.
Now the sound of summer coming;
Breezes rustling greening leaves,
Leaves us knowing things as growing,
Be it flowers, crops or trees.
Painless birth from earth to air,
Summer; springtime's daughter
Laughs and sings to sunkissed things,
Wet with broken water.
