Talking to The Wind
Talking to the wind,
The nowhere road is clear;
The hour is disciplined,
In winter's austere.
Life will reach on,
And dream becomes plight;
These are mere prolegomenon,
For spring is up and bright.
Talking to the day,
That now is going by;
There comes a sunshine way,
When blue clears all the sky.
In thoughts bewilderness,
No minutes go through;
The real can not digress,
With what it has nothing to do.
Talking to the night,
When dreams are waiting there;
What lies in its sight,
May be of a debonair.
Like stars that glow and glow,
In distant galaxies;
Or fallen winter snow,
Within a glisten freeze
posted by Peter S. Quinn @ 10:49 AM
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