The sun once rose in the east every day.
Summer mornings broke
warm and early
and afternoons were baseball
and tag and hiding and seeking
and sweaty until the bell and dinner
and more play and sweat until
dark and beyond.
The sun hides now and we seek it
amid clouds and fog.
Play and smiles are memories
that fade with time and heil salutes
and hard, grim resolve.
The next sunrise is a hope,
a wish, a dream.
Good morning is a prayer,
that all we love will survive
and rise again
when the clouds and fog
burn away.
The Smith Compound 