Danny Draper Poems
When All The Trees
When all the trees are tall and still
and Sun is shouldered on a hill,
Shadows drench a cooling gully
and nocturnal eyes begin to stir.
When all the wings of day are rested
and talk of roosts by owners tested,
Fear of enemies concedes to sleep
and dark conceals its masses.
When all the hearts in unison beat
and world's in silence are replete,
Uniformly all are equal as by magic
and little animals start their night.
When all the hunters stalk night prey
and quarry seek out gifts of day,
Fragments from the hectic lighted
and waste from...
The Good Old Days
There never were the good old days
as those that remember say,
For the days they remember
were when they were young,
they were too young to remember.