The Sun's Homework
The dream in the enigma
Of unmolded sound,
Passing through the lips
Of the bullhorn
Where keeps the ashes of
A once great fire
The young gods sat
Around, telling the first
Stories with just their eyes;
When ladies were sometimes
Lakes and trees
Sneaking into the unpolluted love,
Like arriving late for class
Without an excuse,
And naked the phantoms walk
The courtyard made invisible by
The sun,
Who can tell them where to go
Now that their homework is done.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
Added by Poetry Lover
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