By Thomas Page

 

Whatever happened to the morning sun

Asks the solitary, evening moon b ‘low

The stars and the clouds framing a sky done.

 

This time of year, I cough up my own lung

Winter’s curse to the body that will know

Whatever happened to the morning sun?

 

Leather rancher coat on hanger is hung

In the closet facing the curtains though

The stars and the clouds framing a sky done.

 

The rain comes down pouring, water has won

Over the sky’s cradle damming it. Oh,

Whatever happened to the morning sun?

 

I think of the poet Welshman who wrote one

About a vanishing father who much he owes.

The stars and the clouds framing a sky done

 

Whatever happened to the mourning son?

The bars and the crowds framing a night show.

Whatever happened to the morning sun?

The stars and the cloud framing a sky done.

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