[NicknamedBob]

Well, 'Face, here's another piece of clutter for you to unpack...


To Day

Darkness, made the more profound,
By silence, whose husbanded sound,
Has stretched the firmament of stilled air,
Until it almost seems about to tear...

Then worn and tattered threadbare night,
Whose shivering stars have tithed their meager light,
Surrenders to a youthful sun to rouse up all the dew,
As elder brethren go to sleep, all blanketed in blue.

The steaming rocks and hillside pearls are rising,
On slanting golden treads, while songbirds in surprising,
Cheerfulness, unclench their frozen toes,
Before the sunny fireplace that rose.

And I my mind and plans for day compose,
When to my sight an amber-petalled rose,
Has caused all time to stand still in its place,
Until I have completed worship of your face.

NicknamedBob . . . . . . . . October 8, 2005

[Monkey Face]

Wow...I actually understood that one...and, like most of your poetry, I fell into it...heart and all. :o|

Thanks!

[Darksheare]

"Mind clutter, luggage for the skull!"

I ahve no idea why that just popped into my head.

[Tax-chick]

Nice, Bob.