|
| |
Days Will Bide Their Time
The morn dawned gray, the fog crouched o'er the sea
It spread across the land; on hill, in vale, it lay
Obscured the rolling meadow, 'till arose a breeze
As sun burned through the mist with slanting ray
A thought did find its way into my mind
That days will bide their time before they say
Now look at us in all our finery designed
To dazzle and delight, as -- our glory we unwind
Copyright ©
Gershon Wolf
|
|