Slow-Moving Front

Thinking of Otis Redding…

There's a slow-moving front come in,
can you smell the flowers?

Yes, a slow-moving front's come in,
I been sittin' here for hours.

The leaden sky is darkly gray,
pregnant with spring showers.

Jogging my slow-moving frontal lobe,
from dreamy ivory towers.

Trying to compose my thoughts,
while making bridal bowers.

Slow-moving front's dragging by,
reflecting all my sorrows.

Slow moving job hunt passing by,
I been sittin' here in a haze.

Eatin' all my equity,
can't seem to change my ways.

Until that damn front passes by,
and I'll again see brighter days.
A storm front looms

Photo Courtesy Gympie


More Poems

My Place

Read War's End, the Novel

Copyright 2006 © Ronald W. Hull