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A Toast
I have been ill as of late
wracking fever, sore throat, exploding pain
usual culprits, mixed with original fellows.
Head, body, joints, even heels
throbbing in measured time
agony intensified interiorly.
Fever broke last night
leaving weakness, half-consciousness
chicken soup, vitamins, juice and more juice.
The prayed for rain came while incapacitated
temperature plunged almost thirty degrees
several inches fell, killing the drought.
Today's late September, afternoon sun
found me in old, gray stocking cap
wrapped in my Indian blanket poncho.
Sitting on my backyard car seat
with smoke and familiar cuppa
relishing the God given warmth.
Saying hello to all my friends;
the old bolt peeking from weeds
tire swing filled with fresh rain.
Blackbird interlopers have taken the feeders
knarly old tree's sun swathed branchlettes
reaching with soft breeze, as if to hug hello.
My brave, gray muzzled companion
woofing at someone walking the tracks
it strikes me, this must be peace.
A feeling of content, near comfortable
after all the adversarial strife before...
I lift my cup to celebrate with my friends.
Daniel James Burt 10/00 EofR
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Tramp Poet