Morning’s Song
Sleepy summer eyes
wake, greeting crimson rays,
while swaying stalks waltz silently
on gentle rolling waves.
Tranquil, faded paths
weathered, beaten barn
both eagerly awaiting
as silence haunts the farm.
No longer distant bells.
No clanging in the air.
No longer soaring sentinels.
Only souls resting there.
Bacon, eggs, and coffee,
aromas long ago,
remember Grandpa cooking for
a grandson’s morning home.
Previous Publication was in Western People, pg 2, April 9, 1998, #936
Squeaky screen door
azaleas, lilacs, lilies
Winter dreams
Previous Publication was in Japanophile 21.1 1996 p.46