The Still Bleak Morrow
The wind blew and lighting bugs flew
In on a warm summer night undue.
A man mutely sitting on the edge
Of a rocky ledge
Mulls over of days gone by
Like a river gone dry
Knitting the feelings of the unkind
Past in his mind
Giving into sullen sorrow.
Maybe it'll change tomorrow.
Nevermore will time be leaden
With bleakness, but only by death's end.
Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2019