White birds riding a calm day sky,
Gleaming and twisting in the heaven's eye,
A red splash of color; a boat chasing time,
A glory tree exulting in candelabra-lime.
A dying shade is climbing on up the summer trees,
To a branch's breathing motion of a sudden breeze.
While a white-pointed spire to Heaven says amen.
Below the sinners weary in their prison pen.
As chimney pots like footsteps scatter cross the town,
For eyes to follow meekly as they slowly start to drown.
All the shadows from every tree that in their time were cast,
Are gathered up into a chant to nature's holy past.
A holy rant and tired breath as evening starts to draw.
Birds will cry and shadows crawl on days we've seen before
- Add a