As the Sun God Dictates

There still are things to clean up
From yesterday’s party. The weekend
Has ended. The chore list grows
Exponentially…, but the sun hesitates.
It still hides in the trees, and the air
Remains cool. There are dew drops on
Grass blades and spider web strands,
And a case to be made for not moving too
Quickly. I, my own barrister, make plans
To plead it from here in a blue metal chair
On my porch, a freshly brewed tankard
Of coffee beside me. All life is toil, we’re
Endlessly promised, and, soon, I’ll be forced
To agree that that’s true, but, for now, I will
Model my life on the sun, which stays
Hidden, refusing to move.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 33 times
Written on 2023-05-22 at 14:20

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