DEW
#5 of Poetry
A quick piece. Written 2016.
Does morning bring us rays of hope or just another day?
Does evening give us chance to cope or just a time to lay?
Each time the sun goes overhead, we pass another dawn.
Each hour counted till our bed, another memory gone.
What chance have we to catch the grains of ever following sands?
What matters more than morning rains glistening in your hands?