Walking Toward Noon
c. 2006, Olan L. Smith
A traveler pauses
To remember seven
When he first whistles a tune,
Still rattling in his mind,
Shaking his head
The melody remains
Driving him more insane,
Each moment closer to twelve;
Seconds tick to an unwanted harmony;
His feet dance to an unwanted beat,
And with arms flapping as a loon
He takes flight towards afternoon.
YOU ARE READING
Older Poems from the Pen of Olan L. Smith
PoetryThis collection is a gathering of most of my older poems, both published and unpublished, making it easier to find my poetry.
