
later each morning
the sun starts his daily round
no such lot for me

later each morning
the sun starts his daily round
no such lot for me

red paper lanterns
I walk the fields of my youth
harvest moon again
from the tallest branch
waving wildly in brisk wind
last of summer dreams
pausing now and then
walking along chain link fence
brown sycamore leaf
wind swirling through streets
granting every leave’s wish
to fly — once again