Harp In The Morning

The morn will come
with its ebbing light.
The harp is strum
my soul in flight.

My life and time
has seen its course
like a pantomime
through summer's discourse.

To my God I fly
on my life's deeds
for him to ask why
I chose those creeds.

Judge me true
and I will take
what is my due
for the life I make.

ryebus