The Morning Chants
they are like
cicadas
chirping on the dry
seasons
trying to harmonize
the sadness of
the fallen leaves
every morning
when the winds are dead
when the chimes
are silent
there the chants begin
to fill in the spaces
of this dying town
my heart listens.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
No comments until now.