Wanted to write a happy, soaring love poem, but...

Swallowtail Courtesy Laspilitas.com

She Comes Around

She comes around,
and my heart starts to pound,
with the heat of the sun in the morning.

She comes around,
and we soar to the sound,
of the early bird's call of warning.

We soar through the day,
like children at play,
never heeding our inner yearning.

We fly through the fray,
our dragons to slay,
and the world keeps on turning.

Turning, turning, turning.
Soaring, yearning, burning.
Never heeding the warning,
in the sunlit morning.

For the day burns,
and the world turns,
into the evening,
jaws yawning.

The soar of the day,
turns into fray,
and she suddenly leaves,
without warning.

Never to come around again.
In the morning… Forlorning.

Copyright 2007 © Ronald W. Hull

12/14/07