Donkey of Each Night
Starved, the wild donkey of each night
Still carries so incredible much light,
On his back, in old tattered sacks,
With sweat dreams of hay stacks;
Sometimes, they hard tempt him to stop
But, never had he turned his head to crop.
Many wonder how he can resist a day.
But, in a hurry he goes on his way
Making a path to the old mountain:
His eyes, like a summer-dried fountain,
Rest in the shadow, while on his back
The light is still flowing from the sack.
Copyright © Ovidiu Bocsa | Year Posted 2016
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment