TEXAS POP FESTIVAL

32

Morning Glory

   The morning casts its shadow on my empty bed.
   Marksmen launch their arrows in my weary head.
   I couldn't sleep for thinking of things that you said.
   Sometimes
   I wish I were dead.
   How long can this go on?

   Richard C. Hayner
   1971 ©

   Note: Now read "On 81 (Metamorphosis of a Flower)" Number 95 by clicking here 
    (you can then come back to the next poem in line, if you like)

© 2001 Middle Sea Studios - Richard C. Hayner - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED