Morning Song
Earth stretches
in it’s mouth
a yawn,
of awakening
the wind,
steals
along the valley
of apple trees
a king,
bowing the grasses
the pine hillside,
but oaks defy
a thrust of pride
wind,
dust soaring
cobwebs clinging,
the spider dancing
the morning song
is dew on grasses
glistening,
with silent weeping
in the sun
and
a time piece cock
over hill
crows…
Sept. 78