Friday, September 18, 2009

Evening Workers

Evening Workers

Waiting with bated breath,
We stand, barely speaking.
Hoping to see a sight
Eyes wide, not through slits peeking.

They stand so straight and tall,
Hands held as if they’re reaching.
Slept from sunrise ‘til sunset,
Woke when moonbeams came teasing.

Yesterday’s labors faded
Thrown in a heap on the ground.
Those watching and waiting
Make now, not even a sound.

Summer breezes glowing,
Kiss their little hands still closed.
Softly now they open,
Spread fingers as if a rose.

Skin the palest yellow,
A heart that’s holding its seed.
First one works its beauty,
Others then share the lead.

Do I speak of children
Waking from their slumber,
Garden gnomes and fairies
In the yard doing tumbles?

Am I watching young ladies
Donning their hats and gloves?
Can I speak of tall gents
Bringing gifts to their loves?

Now, I really must tell you
I’ve not written of those.
I’m sharing with you folks
The magical night blooming primrose.

Mimmy aka Joyce Smith
September 18, 2009

1 comment:

  1. Beautiful poem! The picture is lovely!
    Have a nice week-end.


If you leave a comment
It will make my day.
I love to hear that
You've been my way.