I needn't reminisce at dawn!
Yet the wait seems so long!
I lean upon a post by a path less trodden.
It is not just apparel but the soul too
that stands blanched in monochrome,
with a burning head as he bows!
I must have left some hues behind!
Upon the post I lean and wonder;
there is no soul 'neath that tyranny,
no mutinous soul, of hues remind.
When the grass is lime and haze, yellow,
one faint breeze slips this fellow.
As he's lulled for just a moment,
hem of hues in flickers billow!
Scent of hues borne upon breeze
animates
souls I now reminisce:
scent of grass,
scent of ground, dewed, . . .,
and the tyrant now ablaze,
sets to dissidence, obliterate.
Hues, variegated,
fled from the scene,
and I am left
'neath his glaring gaze.
I lean upon his feet and yet again wonder:
"I must have left some hues behind!"
and he then flickers only at dawn.
Yet the wait seemed so long!
And I needn't reminisce when a Sun does shine,
when it rises
eminently kind.