field brown is dingy
grass is achingly green…
Sun
theyre all high any mighty lording their stupid fluffy faces over us all
The sun rises up, gliding across the dance floor sky, as the stars take their place on the side…
the sun is out because the weather is changing and guess what
How does one follow
the sun to survive…
I have a little
invisible backpack
hovering behind me,
when I can’t handle…
Remember
when I was the sunshine kid…
Appreciated,
by birds, flowers, human bees…
Normally hated,
Hot, bleak, and blinding, burning…
What did folks do before almanacs
and forecasts,
did they have stretches of gray
days where they just said…
Daily Poets 