Morning Run

Stuck in Customs / / CC BY-NC-SA

The midsummer sun shimmers golden
Over eastern hills. I grab my shoes and run,
As the world releases the remaining tendrils of the dark.

The Douglas fir throws shadows long and dark
And fields of summer wheat gleam golden,
As loping on and on for miles I run.

While the cock is still crowing I run
On a path that is dappled and dark,
Through my world with a compass golden.

When the day dawns golden, I run, and the world doesn’t seem so dark.

This is my first attempt at a tritina for Yeah Write’s December poetry slam.


16 thoughts on “Morning Run

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