Some Days

Distant rumbles from a sky of

Misty gray, hanging low,

Moving steady, marking time,

Marching soldier in your prime.

Crispness chilling morning air,

Sitting on my front porch chair

I ponder what the day will bring.

Daintily the wind chimes sing

As robins chirp

And folks walk by,

Gentle breezes seem to sigh

And slide across the pine tree’s boughs,

Who protests slightly, but allows.

Plans were made

But will they serve?

Will protests yield what they deserve?
Or should I simply roll along

To see what fate holds in her song?

Some days are like this one,

No doubt.

I’ll wait to see what it’s about.