Dawn, written by Stanley W. Shura at Spillwords.com



written by: Stanley W. Shura


A breeze blows softly.
The leaves scatter randomly.
The tree sways in place.

This dance in the wind
bespeaks years of patient growth
often scorned by man.

We seek results now!
Breezes are for leisure folk
singing their days gone.

Gusts do come and go
and men pine expectantly
while blooms die, unsmelled.

Days to years worked hard –
minutes lost to sweat’s harvest
not experienced.

The gusts grow frequent –
warning all that nature’s dime
will be collected.

Hurricanes our plight –
scattering our bounty gone –
into ash and dust.

We grieve for today,
and one more moment to mourn
everything we’ve lost.

Shaken but hard-willed,
we resolve to build again.
Through the night, we slave.

And the sun will rise!:
Father Time bangs His gavel.
Silence. Stillness. Death.

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