Aborning sun lit the morning to flame
Rising from pink embers
Growing, lifting , shifting as a ball ablazed
Orange , then yellow, burning straight to white.
Karen asked: “Where does nature get these colors?”
The colors are nature itself.
It is only we who insist upon
beating the skies
black and blue.
An older day comes forth.
A sun being gentled to sentry duty
marching across fields of blue.
Joining the pace I follow along
our paths as furrows marking daily duties.
Casey Kochmer Feb 2006
Personal Thoughts About the Poem
The pace of our life isn’t measured in our duties, but simply in our movements.