The dawn breaks with a whole new light,
And it flows into my eyes when opened.
What more does today hold
Than fixing my daily hole?
A shovel handle is my support
As I drag myself apart from the dirt,
And I plant my feet above ground
To look down on my six foot bed.
Dirty down there, and damp too.
Damn puddles cloggign' my shoes.
As I take the spade from the ground,
I eye the cone of earth piled beside the gouge,
And I break its side with a stab
And toss a bit into the hole.
Dirt steadily fills it to the brim
So that no sign of the hole is there
Other than the absence of grass,
And the sun begins to set.
It turns to night in my eye then
And by God if I don't believe it,
But the next second the hole is back.
And I am at its lowest, soaking in the puddle.
YOU ARE READING
Not From Chicago.
PoesiaThis is a collection of my best poetry in my opinion! I hope you enjoy, whoever may paint their eyes over the letters and words I've arranged! PS-This book includes poems from "A World In Words" by yours truly. Go check out the other book, if you li...
