Here again the date in question flies
Across my path like solemn, silent orbits
Of planets and stars.
It’s always cold – the leaves
In death throes – hot breath making icy clouds
In winter air.
And sometimes the skeleton
Sings because the sky is going to weep.
And yet, a fire is laid to keep me warm
As smiles with words of grace keep out the storm.
~ tomorrow is the big 4-8 ~