Passing Through
Wet blades in the shade of an old house
Scatter as a mouse shatters the dew,
On this morning as i pass through.
A city asleep beneath a deep eastern ray
Is herlded from slumber by a trumpeting jay,
Who christens the day anew,
On this morning as i pass through.
Golden hair and a rare trace of green
Can be seen, transfigured in the treetops
By autumn’s brush as a thrush scampers from view,
On this morning as i pass through.
Dawn’s drowsiness is shaken as a baby awakens
To the city’s soft ceiling of blue,
On this morning as i pass through.
poem by Gregory Huyette
Added by Poetry Lover
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