Poem By edward serof
Just when the gnat's sting could not be stood another minute,
Mother extols the Sun's setting virtues of a gloriously paletted pennant,
that chose this time to blaze and race the vast unharbored sky,
that appears the same and most immovable lest you turn to look awry.
For in that instant when Heaven poses and paints all westward lees,
the man in me all but melts with pause recounting blessed boy memories,
when just at dusk when Mama called, we scarce heard, yet ran full tilt,
for starved passed starving and dry beyond thirst we did not want crumb nor dropp spilt.
Making our way with pinky-purplish-orangings, tossing their glow on our shoulders,
we yipped and skipped and skint our knees having scaled highest peaks and their boulders.
So back to the now as I rub dire welps,
not really minding though for I get the best
of this day's showing, Mom and I well knowing
we've gotten a glimpse of His infinite zest.