A Trans-Morning Tease

CATEGORY

life

A lone stoic blackbird

sat on a lamp post squawking

away; his eerie crowing

piercing the graveyard silence.

The sleepy yawning sun

pulled himself up

and over the shading horizon;

reflecting a golden glow.

The quiet air was as still as

an aged autumn tree—standing

all alone—naked, and as shameless

as was Joan of Arc, herself.

Springtime has long passed on

and autumn/fall has begun to wane;

however, the morning sun slowly prepares

himself to resist the coming tease of winter.