Addled Swain in the A.M.

Does she, in back-lit splendor,
Make a meal of morning's fragile
Light? Do shadows, those of trees,
And hers, diminish as I rise and
Raise the shades to see, feeling
My hopes rising also? Has she
Come to spend the day? I'll know
In time, if I can read it, if her
Hunger isn't great, and she leaves
Me some light.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 15 times
Written on 2011-08-29 at 15:19

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