Wednesday, 28 September 2011

He ..The Sun

He...The Sun

A weak sun drizzles through the frosted pane
draping the window in pale yellow rain
His strength the likeness of threadbare chiffon
He gleans the glad rag the cat preens upon
He pours himself into a tepid puddle
and curls up there for a fuzzy cuddle
He greedily licks at the chilblained hearth
and dulls the embers to suck up some warmth

Ten o' clock comes, he's all over the place
He prods and he probes and he gets in my face
He mocks my wrinkles and fingers the dust
He freckles and fades and bleaches with gust
He beams himself up and he rays around
and scowls at a timid dust bunny he's found
He stretches, rises and glowers up there
so I draw drab drapes to avoid his glare
© Rose

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