A poem for morning
Rays of pastel shade
should grace this page
as they do the world
of morning’s quiet illusions:
lace curtain to apocalypse – before
the land that lies beneath the dew;
the faces hidden still from view,
and the bells that toll
Boy, are you on a tear. I have your poems stacking up to respond to, but have found once that happens I never get to things, so I’ll start here and hope to get to others…this has a power even more than a poignancy. Quite a stern poem for all it sounds soft. Nice illusion.
Thank you Margo – really good to hear from you again.