Poem At 4:20 a.m.

A New View


Here I sit, surveying the latest

ill, the latest ache. In nature

the clouds weep and rumble,

I wait for the sun.


Bleak is the landscape

in Washington, the hopefuls

are all putting forward

a word on their intentions.

I wait for the sun.


Age is screaming in my

mirrors. I do not scream 

back. I am content to see

how it all turns as I

sit here and quietly 

wait for the sun.






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