Michael Edwards

AN EARLY STROLL

 

 

AN EARLY STROLL

 

I walk

slowly.

 

The grass stretches

and kisses

my feet

with dew.

 

I feel the sun,

weak

(it’s early)

on my coated back.

 

The spring

will soon

be here.

 

Somewhere

a bird sings

from a

yellow beak

pointing

at a cobalt sky.

 

Today

will be good

but first

I must return.

 

I am hungry

and breakfast

awaits.