Day game gleefully strolls into an alley

Like a spark of flare upon windows opening

The golden of a sun-ripening afternoon

You’ve kissed the grass

And hugged the soft, warm ground

Not rushing to herd your thoughts back in

You spot yourself while tucking small messages away

The day shimmers around you, bouncing and rolling

Afloat the lazy two hundred Sunday evening

Birds they don’t hop about your steps

Teeny birds don’t come fluttering through your naps

You’ve pondered how constantly your knees do stare

Still, in the brisk of morning, you’ll awaken