day of lightby Paula Kleinit is morning the grassy heads of the hills nod and wave as i pass in my boots made of years crows toss joyful braying bursts across the fields where i throw my old tools heavenward and nothing falls but is taken up and the sun laughing in its one old eye hands me this day of light it is what i knew before i was born it is what i will take with me down that last road that brushes away my footsteps with a broom made of wind © 2006 by Paula Klein. All rights reserved. |