Two morning poems
In the blue of winter morning,
above the tops of trees,
the moon shone still.
An airplane climbed aspiring
just beneath, then
banked to chalk a trail
arcing partway round
her three quarters’ face.
***
This we know
In our beginning is our end - it will come.
But between our beginning and our end
is all the gift that life can be.
***
Post a Comment
You must be logged in to post a comment.