Ethereal Moments The Poetry of Donavon Scott Vinson
Waiting to Rise
When the wonderful light of day
gently caresses the fields covered
with lovely flowers of blue.
I won't be there to see it's beauty.
When the cool Autumn breeze
gently stirs the colorful
leaves upon the trees.
I won't be around to feel it.
When the ducks quack merrily,
and squirrels chatter joyously
with the birds of the air.
I shall not be able hear it.
For the place that I restlessly lie
is buried deep within the cold,damp ground
under an ancient marble tombstone.
Where I await the rising of the moon
who awakens my tormented,sleeping soul.
Donavon Scott Vinson