is resting on a weathered bench
beneath the tree that grieves
and tries with rigid limbs to clench
a family begun to sprout
but they're too busy branching out.
The tired sun begins to sink
as ruddy as a drunkard's nose
which turns the wispy clouds a pink
that gloriously glows
as heaven's mercy surely must
above this world of woeful lust.
2 comments:
Good job, Bob.
Thanks Richard, I went to one of my favorite spots and had a nice evening walk and even took a cool pic.
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