The sun said, “Write me down!”
Then spun its golden thread
Around each silver cloud
That lingered overhead.

Then diving deep, this golden
Thread, danced among the trees
And weaving through the forest
Made alive the leaves.

It hiked along the mountain
And knit a ridge so bright
It warmed the frigid valley
Bringing solace to their plight.

In flaxen fields it dawdled
To flit beside the breeze
And as it swayed about
It revived the dying wheat.

It ambled down the highway
Along the tarmac plain
Embraced the thumbs of drifters
To remind them of their name.

And as the darkness came
To steal its golden touch
It reached into our homes
Warming hearts we love so much.

© Jeremiah Dowling 2013


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About Jeremiah Dowling

I write poetry and take crazy pictures in an Orange Chair all over the United States while reading amazing books.

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