More Poems By Ray

Time etches itself into the Earth deep.
Deep in scrawled canyon lines where young men dream,
and old dinosaurs sleep.

Tall evening shadows cast by small boys fade.
Fade into the transitional twilight,
where youth for age is trade.

The old tin soldiers have died, slain by rust.
Just a parade of young cadets now march,
upon yesterdays dust.

Destiny of a penny

The people are many,
as the penny is plenty.

Some are brighter then others.
Some really stand out and shine.
While most are just the ordinary normal kind.

Some get lost, others get found.
Many do nothing but lie around.

There are solitary lone ones that keep to themself.
And others in groups that combine their wealth.

Some are worn down.
Others may be scratched and bent.
The marks of time and stress they underwent.

Some are older and some are newer.
The older ones disappear and become fewer.

The people are many,
as the penny is plenty.