morning poem, march 1, 2016

The red brick houses in the silver morning
With frost on every roof
The half-moon still in the sky, powder blue
And all the trees are silver, too.

Who can remember the speech of this wind
That blows cool, fresh and new
I think it talks of flowing life
In days and nights of youth.

copyright 2016

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s