Dawn to Dusk

Light is lobbed to the leaves and they cradle it 

In the evening they throw it back to the sun 

whose tendrils collect it 

then go home 

And the birds protest and moan and whine 

about their stolen treasure, their fallen god 

until the darkness cuts them off 

blankets their bodies 

and suffocates their squawking 

Posted in response to the challenge Poetry Month.

Geri

MD

17 years old

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