Wednesday, March 05, 2008


The sun, kindled by wind,
casts a gentle beam lifting
gold from horizon's end.

Like a miner carefully sifting
remains of night's ore away,
children brushed by the light lifting

Open eyes to greet day.
Mother wakes to whispered mirth
of light, oblivious play,

As the sun slowly leaves Earth.

1 comment:

Beysshoes said...

Para, I honestly love this sweet little poem. But it seems crowded. Miner, children, Mother ... distracts me from natures imagery ... and the imagery is rich. xox