Morning Calls


The sun warms my cheek
If not my heart.

A warbler sings his joy
Through dripping sparkles of a pepper tree.

An engine revs up far away
Destination unknown.

Cold gentle careless waves
Roll pebbles
Alter their present,
Shape their future.

Sand and gravel
Go with the flow.
It just is.


About emmylgant

Cloud watcher and dreamer sometimes wise, often foolish, but I am what I am.
This entry was posted in Life, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

6 Responses to Morning Calls

  1. Sans importance?
    Difficile a croire.
    Tes mots rechauffent mon coeur, toujours.


  2. Sand and pebbles… shapeshifters, eternal witnesses…teach without teaching.


  3. john zande says:

    Indeed it is, until the next moment…


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