The Saturday-town was waking up
and the mother-mist
was rising from her brood
of many houses.
I, alone, sat watching
with wake-up heart
and child-soul that wanted to fly
across house tops
to that far off horizon
with new promises
not yet stirring.
Those promises still unhatched
beneath the mother-mist.
But now,
the day comes on
and I must leave
the morning-city.
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.06 seconds at 2:42am on Nov 13, 2024 via server WEBX1.