Poeme XII

UNTITLED

The sheets are warm,
the sun, not yet
as it penetrates through
the bare branches.
Birds were up early,
the greenest of all is the ivy.
The benches wait for somebody to come sit
like the rocking chair on the porch,
sorry but not until the spring.

I discover this place every new dawn,
time as stopped, it is the cold season,
the basketball hoop has been broken
long ago, the wind'll make it fall,
the garden shack needs some fixing,
but not until the sunny days.

At the end of the day,
when everything is said and done
the doors closed and the wars ended,
as the moon penetrates
through the bare branches,
i pull up my blanket,
in an empty bed,
enough said.

J'ai pas trouve de titre donc si quelqu'un veut proposer...
I didn't find a title for this one so if anybody has one to offer...

and this one goes out to Andy