On cloudy Thursday mornings on the beach,
it can be tempting to presume redress
for crimes unspoken. Conscience turns to each
And pleads the opportunity; Confess!
But in the break of mist her heav'nly glow,
enchanting warmth and light upon your face,
inspires a sense that she loves you alone:
selecting you from others for her grace.
The passing time reveals this ancient trend-
Our sins neglected, splendor unperceived.
She has no whim, no passion, and no friend:
The sun's no arbiter, prefers no creed.
In sooth, the sun is simply meant to shine,
illuminating worlds more than mine.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment