poetry by Phil Benton
Words to catch the sun’s first ray,
Whispered prayers to mornings past;
Future’s chance to right the fates,
Of those that cry for days gone by.
Words to hoist the sail of day,
Joyful shouts to drown the din;
Present’s grasp on all unbroken,
Waiting for the tumbling fall.
Words to wind the sun to bed,
Anxious sighs to hide regret;
Leisure’s time is ever fleeting,
Out of view to them that blink.