Every Thursday the sun
Wakes up alarmed
Hearing the clamorous
Garbage truck come down
The alley behind the door
Of the garage wide-eyed
Until the noise moves on
Prepared to run and hide
But holding her ground
Who knew the great sun
Could also be afraid
When the dark earth trembles
And not know for certain
Where to run
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment