The Present
‘Tis morning, and the dogs push out
The door into the yard.
The sun’s still soft upon the hill;
The day is fresh, not scarred.
The deer stream down the sylvan slope;
A dove sings to his mate.
The world is stretching, now awake;
The day’s become its date.
The hill is not aware of this,
But I should fully be –
That I’ve been given yet again
This prized commodity.
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photo by John Boyer at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nkv8xwm/Sunrise+Trees
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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2013.
This is truly lovely, Dennis. The line “The day is fresh, not scarred,” says a volume full.
I’ve been super busy with trying to edit some books and grade papers from the students in my creative writing class. Haven’t had much time to read anything else. But I’m trying to catch up. You’re way ahead of me here, but I’ll eventually get all your new ones read — and enjoyed.
Thanks. Glad you liked it. Knew you must be busy these days. I’ve been missing you. 🙂
Nice one.