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Running
January 16, 2014
Running, running, with no goal in mind,
Feet touch cold dew covered grass,
Autumn morning, resigned.
Dawn has barely broke o’er the trees
The grass splashes and shakes its dew covering off
Like a prisoner now appeased.
The worn sidewalk holds tales from past
Steps first and last to be taken,
Both important when recast.
The grass that dies and is reborn
Each season shivers now
As the cold comes to make it mourn.
For it will want for days of warmer times,
When the children squealed and ran
Their laughter the sound of chimes.
© Brittany S., No. Platte, NE
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