It is with whimsy that I'll pass,

for lack of something better to do.

.

When dawns cascade into dusks

with clouds of hours rising

.

that hold no new dreams

or events surprising.

.

It is with whimsy when I pass,

when I tire of faded flowers,

.

when my loves and friends

have gone across,and emptied

joy from the hours.

07/08/2007

Posted on 07/08/2007
Copyright © 2025 Jane E Pearce