Saturday, September 8, 2012


                                 Brenda Bryant



The sun, descending in a rush,
Brings, to the sky, this rosy flush.
Trees stand sentinel and say
'The glorious sun is fading away.
We must stand through the chill of night
Patient until the sky is bright,
When, once more, we can raise our heads
Above the painted flower-beds
And take our energy from the orb,
Every mite we can absorb,
To see us through the darkening hours.
What a waiting game is ours!'


Clearly, everything you write
Will not be greeted with delight.
Some may find it balderdash,
Some may say you have panache.
Fate cannot ever guarantee
Everyone liking what they see.
Some readers may be nauseated
And think your words are over-stated.
Others may cherish every word
And say the critics are absurd.
Write for yourself! You're sure to find
One or two of a similar mind.
You can't please everyone, that's true
So make a point of pleasing YOU!

1 comment:

Margaret Gosden said...

I would like to have taken that photo! And then to make a telling poem to go with it! That would make my day, as your duo does!