Gliding, sliding, conniving and priding.
The westward wing of the birds solemn flight, ever enchants
the eve of the night.
Glorious and profound are the grace we have found.
Beauty is greater than the ugliness which seems to abound.
Half full or half empty is rarely the actual case, as you can
know plainly, on the eve of the day.
The daylight occurs and the night time obscures but what dif-
ference does it make when your behind a plow and a rake?
The birds still sing and clouds still dream; it happens again
and again as the cycle always returns.
We all share the sunlight, the stars and the moon;
perhaps a snowflake on a wintery afternoon.
© Copyright 2016 Don George. All rights reserved.
Short Story / Mystery and Crime
Poem / Non-Fiction
Poem / Poetry
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