Furrows

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.

Personal Thoughts About the Poem