The faint musty pink of the sun setting.
As if the day was hanging in a closet and needed to air out.
The water laps at the concrete docks,
and the wind massages my back with cold fingers.
In the distance I see a steeple.
Boats lining the sullied waterway,
planes shining their lights above.
The whir of engines dying off in the distance.
The water gleams purple and pink reflecting the sunset.
The clouds thicken. A storm is approaching.
The dry haylike grass lies trampled at my feet with only slight glimpses of green,
beckoning spring to hurry.
The moatish barrier always seems tinged red as if remembering,
the blood that was spilt for God and country.
When God was a part of this country.
As if the day was hanging in a closet and needed to air out.
The water laps at the concrete docks,
and the wind massages my back with cold fingers.
In the distance I see a steeple.
Boats lining the sullied waterway,
planes shining their lights above.
The whir of engines dying off in the distance.
The water gleams purple and pink reflecting the sunset.
The clouds thicken. A storm is approaching.
The dry haylike grass lies trampled at my feet with only slight glimpses of green,
beckoning spring to hurry.
The moatish barrier always seems tinged red as if remembering,
the blood that was spilt for God and country.
When God was a part of this country.
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