Morning Song

~

Red sky at sunrise

silhouettes trees,

where one shadow lists

to the freeze

~

inclined to escape

the solid space

~

into airy

freedom

at large.

~

A neighbor’s,

it seems,

to seek,

endeavor,

~

it enamors

for that which it longs.

~

And the birds

sing along

~

in a cold harbored throng –

~

“Come on” “Come on”

~

“Get going along.”

~

~

And when trees leave,

as always they will,

in the fall

to the call

of the wild,

~

all empty nests

will come to a rest

~

upon shards

in the yards

of the child.

~

.

.

.

.

Copyright © 2012 Marvin Loyd Welborn. All Rights Reserved.

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