May 20, 2019
The sunny skies do make such monstrous haste
But tasty bait, they hang, before my eyes
They've got me dreaming of the unknown taste
Been cured with less of it, of wasted time
So quick to fall, such eagerness to pick
The roses lined in brick and earth
A sickly trick, too quick, and thorns will prick
But ease, and from my kicks, the heart gives birth
And trod, do I, uncharted lands; not stride
For riding fast does blur the tints of day
And wipes the green of trees in with the white
Of clouds that mix the blue of sky and waves
Then slow, on feet, not wheels, through this meadow
Be sure to end in goal or turn, I know
YOU ARE READING
Ajar
PoetryA daily journal full of poems of love, of joy and grief Pen enslaves the hand and paints the vast land of the canvas we call Speech
