Poems by Steven Federle
Friday, October 24, 2025
Morning
w
hen the sky is still black
and stars glitter
like there's no
tomorrow,
the overblown moon
luxuriant
above seaborne fog...
this is the time
of magic
when birds,
startled by dawn's
first spark,
raise sharp beaks
and sing
the first song of
morning.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Older Post
Home
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment