© Steve King
All rights reserved
I would not profane
the pageant of this dawning wood
with any small reflection
that a man might bring.
Yet how else may I know?
Light rises,
autochthonous, it seems;
this world displays itself in full always,
while I am left to trace faint shadows
in the afterglow.
(The last of the year
for me, to be shared on Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads. Happy New Year, all!!!)
http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/
