afternoon poem, October 19, 2016

 

 

On top of the hill

Overlooking the town

The trees are all golden

All scarlet and brown

 

The highways look busy

The stores and the churches

The oaks and the maples

The elms and the birches

 

The sun it sits low

In the west, in my eyes

And fathers head home

With a birthday surprise

 

It all looks so quiet

And perfect from here

I wish all could be

Just how it appears

 

 

Copyright 2016

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