Autumn Heyday SS
Golden leaves in flight up high
Amber hues paint the sunlight sky
The heat of sunshine fades away
The air turns crisper day by day
Sour scent of decay on the way,
Autumn in midst of its heyday.
angry-gray steam billowing
from its coal-stoked furnace
its whistle threatening a reckoning
speed decreasing with each turn of its wheels
the mighty locomotive pulled into
the station, her denizens eagerly waving
to folks as familiar as the sounds of the prairie
adventures to unpack once back home
he knew everything; the answers were clear
exceptionally confident, for he was eighteen
youthful exuberance kept his ideals safe
dreaming of his future was a joy at this age
advantage of being young is super power of feeling invincible
yelling his truth to the moon in his heyday of life
For fifty years I went to work
Minimum wage; was I a jerk
I'd slave away every day
Bus ride home, eat, hit the hay
Now a new life has opened up for me
Doing something I can hardly believe
Waking up, I go outside; gaze at the grass, sky and trees
Thus fortified, I head back in and write poetry
It'll never pay the bills, but there are no bills to pay
Only one complaint ~ I keep on hitting the hay