More Poem by Smoky Hoss

Music at times melancholy, faint,
like dusk, soft, sad and slow.
And then sometimes
the morning
so bright,
only dancing will do.
Sometimes, on wings wild
to fly,
sometimes, just waiting around
to die.
Like a cat
on dew drenched grass
stepping lightly, gingerly,
as if the straws of sunshine
beneath our tender toes
will break
and take
the joy in vapors of dust
to the whispy winds,
blown yonder and gone;
What we've failed to find
in our fancy flirts
with natures creator is,
She loves to dance!
slow, and fast.

No matter what else
you take from this little life,
learn to love
more than one thing.