Travel

I'm sure that life would have a different tone

If I lived here, or close to here, each day

No seeds of sudden Wonder would be sown

I'd curse the sky above for being Gray.

I'd be annoyed, and not excited, to

Slip by a sudden crowd upon the street

And when I had a thousand things to do

The slow bus speed would no longer be neat.

If I had needs that were not being met

I'd be as frustrated as I am now

At home; the bustle would not be, I bet,

Sufficient to not let me have a cow.

But since I am a visitor, I'll squeeze

The joy from what for living is dis-ease.

Dusk

The hours of the day have lingered on

Like Midwest guests unwilling to depart

Until the reason for their going's gone

And all the salutations must restart.

The sky has blazed and faded to a glow

Just barely visible against the dark;

The sun, like us, does not desire to go

And hides itself in the horizon's park.

The moon has risen, but would not be rude

And so will wait until the sun has flown;

Though it is early, it will not intrude--

But once it comes, its glory is its own.

The night that we await will be divine

But day has readied us for something fine.