Poem By Jonathan Goldman a.k.a JGthepoet
The Sun, a fireball in the sky
Shines like a beacon bright.
Its rays into all within its path
Punctures and invades with all its might.
Sunglasses, blinds or even shades
Do not diminish its power,
Which through the clear Winter skies
Lights like a lighthouse tower.
There is no warmth from this bright light
For Winter days are cold,
But the Sun gladdens our lives,
Or so, we are all told.
The days do pass, one by one,
Another year soon passes.
And as my sixtieth birthday comes,
To write I put off my glasses.
“S-O-S” “S-O-S” the letters beckon me,
Not “Save-Our-Souls” the Distress Call,
What do these letters to me mean?
“Sixty-On-Sixteenth” and it is not a dream.
© Jonathan Goldman [JGthepoet] - 7 December 2003