“Busy old fool”
you said.
As I caught the breath,
of another wakened
morning breeze.
The darkness banished,
I began to search
for my words.
“Are you not ashamed,
you sleepy-head!”
I replied.
And began to
touch another day.
The morning light
“Busy old fool”
you said.
As I caught the breath,
of another wakened
morning breeze.
The darkness banished,
I began to search
for my words.
“Are you not ashamed,
you sleepy-head!”
I replied.
And began to
touch another day.
A Wandering Poet 