A Birthday Poem

Just past dawn, the sun stands
with its heavy red head
in a black stanchion of trees,
waiting for someone to come
with his bucket
for the foamy white light,
and then a long day in the pasture.
I too spend my days grazing,
feasting on every green moment
till darkness calls,
and with the others
I walk away into the night,
swinging the little tin bell
of my name.

by Ted Kooser

Comments (30)

Thanks to ted looser for making the poem thank you so much
It is a nice poem but not about birthdadays thanks
I don’t like the poem at all, it’s nothin to do with birthdays. Never coming back here again
this poem is really very bad
Um this is NOT a birthday poem whatsoever😡😡😡😡
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