A pen, a paper;
And a tear down my eye.
A phrase, in a verse, in two words
I’ve written in your gentle winds;
As they carried my sails along inspiration stream,
With my words engraved in your mist
Bold in fine-print, my novelty in the scheme.
I have slept in your silence;
The greatest lullaby.
Yet hadn’t dreamed of awakening-
To a poem of goodbye.
Your sun is setting;
Frying in scarlet.
I’m bound to miss your cool-
When I’m scorched with ultraviolet!
I wouldn’t want you to leave;
But time instructs you must.
Farewell my old friend,
I ought to prepare for August…
If I live to see next year;
I hope to write you a happier verse.
I’ll work on that in January –
But now I have to write for August 1st!
By: Phanuel Ayelum.