Friday, May 6, 2016

A half-full realist

Laying under the stars,
A romantic notion,
While I explore and pursue
Alas, not come to fruition
That grass holds bugs,
Comes to mind
How about bears?
Chasing my behind
It could rain and pour
While I scramble for shelter
Or in summer nights
In torturous heat swelter
Seemingly is about the art of
In life, slowing down
But the pragmatic in me
Dismisses it with a frown