The sun like a terrified child,
Too mild or meek for papa’s routine,
Abides to the trees, along the ravine,
Careful in tact to fend off the storm
And sift into a shadowless form.
The moon, too weak to spite the sun,
Reticulates his father’s scorn,
And by opposition, breaks the day
Offering none but the faith of morn.
Day into night into day by day breaks,
The father of two demure children awakes,
And silently, violently thrown about,
Shakes his head once and bows out.
No comments:
Post a Comment