Poetry

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A Man may well write in the lateness of night,the day tends to fly with one's chores standing by,daytime's own special leisure
is its shortness of measure,dark night have its way it intrudes
on each day,and dusk is short lived like it fell through a sieve
daytime it is free,and its light we can see,thanks be TO GOD,
FOR MY PLEASANT day's stay,autumn leaves start to fall with no
wind there at all,can the daylight get lost like a winged bird
in flight,like it flew out of sight,so the evening crept in;now
its dark once again,when the MOON shows its face darkness it may
chase,perhaps the sun it did replace somewhere else .Joe.

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