Have eyes to see

Tomorrow reality will be birthed
At maybe a little after eight
Baptised with the insufficient touch
Of Coffee and of soap

I will see those I always see
Appear to work most studiously
Dreaming so very far away
As our sun begins her fall

Perhaps the shyer exit will prevail
The same sullen trudge of grey
Or death’s golden tinge
May touch the heavens

Each hard crafted plan man-made
Held in beauty for a fleeting touch
Slides imperceptible into the void
Where do the seasons go?

For all the myriad faults I bear
The life dragged chains
Are transcended gracefully
In the little things