To God Himself
in the Passing Hours

Through the boy who is me at the moment,
quite out of his mind,
wed to his shadow on the grass
as he twirls to keep it twirling,

and the clatter of the mower whirling
through a still spring morning—

Please log in to view or print the full story online or in PDF format.
If you are new to Narrative, signing up is FREE and easy.