A short and gritty runway's scratch
Ignites a flimsy wooden timber
The oil lamp's view transcends the match
But exercise keeps fingers limber
Each day a routine was ably forged
The Holy Writ was read at dawn
The craftsman's soul wished to be gorged
With gems of truth as the day moved on
At workday's end the sun traversed
His work domain, in crept the night
Once home he lit a match...read one more verse
The morrow brought the selfsame fight
c aaron
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Author:
pldabbs (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 5th, 2018 09:27
- Comment from author about the poem: A short poem that focuses on a man's daily routine of consulting with his book of inspiration both at the beginning and end of each day.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 7
Offline)
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