The golden rays of sun twaned in a multi-coloured sky,
Resplendent, yet impelling that this lovely day must die.
Oh, should such beauty suffer this inglorious, short-lived reign?
Could that incomparable luster have shone forth on all in vain?
Can the velvet, a starry cushion with it's myriad, twinkling lights,
And the ever smiling "Old Man Moon" recapture these delights?
Will the morning reap the glory of the day that passed away?
Or will dark and sullen clouds appear keeping happiness at bay?
Is not this reminiscent of life' everlasting change?
Oft, when gladness is the target, mists of sorrow cloud the range.
But winds of hope, if strong enough, can drive those clouds away,
And bring a happy state of mind that's sunbathed every day.

by Ronald Eric Wakefield

Other poems of RONALD ERIC WAKEFIELD (2)

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