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Friday, April 8, 2011

Hoping for a Better Day

This morning, a graying overcast dulled the promise of a rosey dawn,
and I tried to capture it in this poem, with its hint of teenage angst,
and political-like overtones.


Sullen rose shrugs off tender blue-gray in the east.  Scrawny oleander,
set out on the desk for the sake of spring sunshine, huddles against
the deck door, lest frost come again in the night.  Everywhere, neglected
twigs and leaves no foot has trodden black, no hand has raked, since
that sudden storm last fall.  But in drowsy flower beds, new life's astir.

Lone, erant duck wings across my line of sight, to join its migrating flock.
Darker clouds advance from the side of the receding night.  It appears
that the west is winning.

Bent on breakfast, my hand brushes a money plant on the table.  I am
rewarded by a single dew-drop, unexpected, a silver coin upon my  hand.
I'm savouring it, saving it, saving it up for a better day.

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