Morning Rain
Veiled sky, dusk at dawn,
Night gone—yet not gone;
Half-light, hardly day;
Weird world, dim and gray.
Rain falls—steady, soft.
Mists rise, twirl, and waft.
Gentle pattering
Drowning everything,
Drumming—constant, deep—
Coaxes back to sleep.
Sleep, though, now eludes
As day’s darkness broods.
Thwarted, still I lie
In the shades and sigh.
The Golden Tree
Amidst the neatly regimented rows
Of eye-high cornstalks, green and supple still
In mid-September’s dying heat, there grows
A solitary tree, a tulip tree,
Tall sentinel to watch the ordered plain
With proud, yet lonely incongruity—
Resplendent, golden in oblique late rays,
As though a relic of King Midas’s reign,
Or as if Autumn hastened her cool days.
Ah, me! Too soon it yellows, long before
October sounds the greenery’s death-knell.
Why? Can it bear to watch alone no more?
Adam Sedia (b. 1984) lives in his native Northwest Indiana and practices law as a civil and appellate litigator. He has published four books of poetry and his poems, essays, and fiction have appeared in various literary journals. He is also a composer, and his musical works may be heard on his YouTube channel.
