the trees sway,
leaves turn in the wind
and jostle
The Days Have Been Cold
It seems to never go, the cold I find
Almost every morning, and still in evening,
Like some unwelcome guest,
To tell myself it's not that bad,
That I don't mind the drafts and cold feet,
But the chills, and numbness, give a constant reminder
Of the annoyance of uneasy rest,
Kindly suffering their presence,
Thinking, "If only it would be brief
Before they part, and give me some kind of solace."
On Wordsworth
This morning about I took
to read a book of poetry.
The sun was just rising.
Wordsworth told a story
Full of intrigue.
After the last of my coffee
I took the book with me,
And, along the way,
I found a spot to read,
And, as I read, outside,
Everything, it seemed,
Lent in, and added vibrancy,
As life in its elements
Worked into the story.
I went on like this
For a few pleasant moments,
Enjoying the musings,
And, on, into other pages,
Where I found myself
Enjoying other poems
By other poets as well.
The Nap
My mind, having borne
The weight of wear
The day has brought,
Needs burden less,
And I'm inclined
To lay down and rest.
Given to gentle decline,
I wholly welcome
The peaceful fading
Of consciousness,
To prolong less
The watchful hours,
The weariness,
And nap.
edit:
blank post