The sun is looking close, this morn’, two miles to the east
And rising up quite slowly…. like slowly rising yeast
to adorn a perfect sky, cloudless against the blue
and awakening all us country folk, the many and the few.
Many like the ducklings, waddling after mother
A few like little possum…. hanging out without each other.
But all enthralled to see the light to help them see the way
as they roam the countryside, where they roam each day.
Fog is hiding the distant trees that hide the little lake
that sits behind a vacant barn where milk cows use to make
their milk that farmers use to truck to almost every town
but time has marked a wicked path…. not leaving much around.
Beams from a coming car, through the fog faintly glow
Coming ‘neath the underpass where speedy trains now go
The county road’s still necessary; connecting to the city
and still in fairly good shape…. through country that is pretty
The eeriness of the early dawn…. softly casts a spell
The grass is leaning, heavy and limp, by dew it can’t expel.
But the country morn’ is coming – its haze it soon will lift
and everything that’s living will receive a splendid gift.
© 2012 t. j. gargano