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  • Lorraine Johnson

[132] Waning Days

As the seagull mews

so goes the echoing waves

counting tales of yesterdays

reaching sandy shores

where tiny birds scurry

leaving gentle footprints

—in the wake of flight

and sand between toes

washed by the glow

of summer sea

and wanting

the croon of

a waning day

holds on

stopping time

for just one more

grasping hands

we try to stay

it's quiet

and no one calls

as the sun shifts

toward a world unlit

waiting to rise

to another day.


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