Why is time so plentiful

when more of it just means

nothing gets done?

 

The year’s end approaches

but the tropic air is still warm.

I see the sun set.

 

 

The chilly night’s breeze

so swift to flow, and destined

to nimbly disappear.

 

 

Eyes that grow weary

await patiently a new sunrise and

more stories to be told.