In Contemplation

Sunbathing

Because my hands are cold
I move towards the place of the bold

It is this pastime of old
Moving to a mold

I take off my clothes, go crass
And lay myself on the grass

There is so much light
I begin to take my flight

Swimming under the sun
Having so much fun

Me and my silent shadow
Contemplating deep to the marrow

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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