Quiet Dark Hours Poem by The Original Tom Maxwell

Many mornings, I go to bed,
As I hear birds chirping outside,
The peaceful dark hours,
The best time, to dream or write,
It seems I receive more messages,
Under the moon light,
No interference, in the way, Ideas shine so bright.

It's 3: 47 in the morning,
I made it to tomorrow,
I guess I'm doing ok, I don't need to borrow,
Retired, always by myself,
A lot of yesterdays, turn into tomorrows,
Always trying to entertain, my mind,
I survived most of life's sorrows.

Are there any more people,
That will ever love me,
For everyone I ever loved,
Their resting in cemeteries,
There must be A reason,
This life my eyes still see,
As I translate inspiration's,
For some, the future, will need.



Tom Maxwell ©
06/08/2919 AD
4: 45 AM