shards
of thieves and bards
drifting through
the thee and you
resting upon
my waking head
like morning dew
as I lay in bed
I rise and try
to set aside
sweet drops
on mental grass
as banging bunny bops
and crooked lying cops
distract me from
the urgent task
is it god's tax
or workman's ax
that try to snatch
the nightly catch?
Do memories
belong to me
or to the trees
that drink my dreams?
Or both?
The shadows grow
in comfort's shade
and new thoughts fade
as chores dismay
the coming day
in us there's growth
and dew will flow
to paper blank
our mental bank
a treasure stowed.
About the Creator
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