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Poem

The crescent moon overlooks
The pink taffy sky as it melds 
With the grey mist that rises 
From the creeks and gently rolling hills

I read a long time ago
To avoid criticism one should
Say nothing, do nothing, be nothing
But even in doing that one gets criticised

Many politicians say a lot
Buttering everyones' toast
But when it comes down
To doing anything worthwhile
They are like a phantom, ghost, or apparition
That disappears at first light or close observation
They have to hide in shadows
So that their half-truths, lies, straddling of the fence is not found out

So how can we learn from this 
What can we do with our lives
What can we be, say, write
If we say, be, write then can we
Follow through with action

Moon is getting fainter just a bare
Silver almost hair
Against the very gray-blue sky that mixed
With the mist of the earth two have combined
Seemingly forming one body

Duty has called me from the carefree moments
That exist out on the porch as the roosters begin
Their crowing, the crickets have quietened,
And the birds have begun their morning chirping
And life calls me away to do the responsibilities of day

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