Good morning.
I thought.
I smiled.
As I walked down the steps.
Some wayward butterflies.
Finicky cats.
Gawking crows.
Life was on even keel.
Good morning.
I looked around.
Air conditioners dripping.
Sunday lethargy.
Breakfast smells.
Floating by.
Half past nine.
Sleepy yet for many.
Good morning.
I deep breathed.
Spring in my step.
Trees busy making oxygen.
Flowers peddling honey.
Bees ransacking.
Nature is a bandit.
But all happily legal.
Good morning.
I mused again.
I strode through.
Walking over dappled concrete.
Brilliant spots of light.
Appearing and disappearing.
Painted by nervous leaves.
Breeze the conductor.
Good morning.
I looked up.
I saw through shadows.
Beaming through greens.
Circle of radiance.
Author of everything.
A less than furious sun.
Shining over my head.
Good heavens! I piped.
This is the same sun
that shone on my great grandfather.
And Adam, and me, and my son.
And this is the same sun
that will shine on my great grandson.
I hope some day he will look at it
and see it as the sun that saw me.
And all eternity.
prathap suthan
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sun-of-my-grandson/
