Don Gray
Art Essays, Art Criticism & Poems
Tomorrow's Fate...A PoemThe day is fresh and full of hope and flesh, will never end before the noon, when minutes seem to nod and drowse like ruffled doves in quiet rows upon the fence. Tomorrow's fate will never come. But after noon, the sly sun slides high past god; the red hawk in keen-eyed search of thoughtless prey, the rabbit sprawled in blue-bush shadow like a bather with too much burn. Time slips and falls away, screams at the earth in the falcon's dive, beak and claw in rapt extension soon rewarded. The day will surely die, is surely dead, will surely turn to night. And through the long, digestion-clicking dark of waking to check the clock, grim gratitude in knowing three respite hours yet remain before the dread tomorrow, the ghastly, glaring light of day beneath the tilting tiger of the sky. Copyright by Don Gray
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