Make Hay At Sun🌞 Up

                           1.     
It is my morning, though shadows cast
With whom I have become companion
My talk mate who though never responses
Agrees to all I say to help ease my worries

It is a great day to go to the woods, meet dew
Who draws water from weather to horde 
Sprinkling enough to wet, cooling bones
Tickling the buds famish for tasteful quench 

Here on my side of the river, my eyes watches
Toast to freedom, price that come with age
I hunger for turn, to climb the stage, have a go
Someday if casket would not have me first

So time passed, the snake continually doffing
Softly, steadily, subtly, rings of years fell off
Casket of wood merged with earth, now sand
Alas, all rise, the pond is mine to drink to my fill
                              2
Picking the bunch eyes caste on my gluttony
My dandy pumped unending with juice
Bubbling and gobbling, supplies never low
To think concerning vigilance or caution
My bonny rod of Moses arrestive as  happy
Shimmering channels of my veins thin
Laced with claret like romping thunder
Tumbling twigs and weeds in the flow
Lack was I, diligence of one, homespun 

Meekness and virtue to the wind I threw
Pond I drained showing grass I ditched
To the river with much water I headed
To have her sing to me as I laze all day
Speak to me as I rock to sleep

I would not pack a dearest to stay fair
I simply toss a coin in the air
To opt for one who to commit to consume
I woo with disregards; I, as sleek as a heifer

For chance to forever stay, I begged, adjured
Obvious that time is done by turns, I abjured
The sun has it’s timing: Time to head home, 
And as the sky darkened, I hastened gathering 
What hay laid strewn, where I shoveled
                            3
The world I was leaving laid before me
The winds no longer part to free my way
But push back, mincing like cat in my ears
What my legs would past do, turned bother

I still stayed good as goose though, charming;
Still desiring that the river ebb and flow by me
Where I wished however shadow be with me
So, we sit under the shine of the moon to gist
Ghost, it turned instead has taken the position

I can hear clearly, the ghost sing but know not
In what slang; of such horrible bunk, the sound
For when such times were mine, jargon differed
This is like, cavalier heading home to roost, for
As the river has gone by installments, calmer
So clouds blocked moon rays from my eyes
I have turned a golden cat without whiskers
Fixed at door step of death, not youth or aged.

When then I am at such chapter
I rock, chewing non-existent meat
To suddenly stop to stare hard at you
Do not ponder wrongly, for I see me back then
My eyes screaming at you: go make hay now!
As never ripen is but itchy by fledglings, myopic.

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