I can be glad of the stream
channeling water across my shoes,
As glad as an ocean kissed to
warmth by the sun.
In the far distant hills
feathers fall from birds
wing-tipped then spiralling
limp and desolate to the earth.
Waiting, in slow soft increments
I will be washed away ,dispersed
then pooled. Like everything
you touch,transient.
- Author: Dovestoneboy ( Offline)
- Published: November 14th, 2020 19:38
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 29
- Users favorite of this poem: Michael Edwards, Poetic Dan
Comments3
A super write - much enjoyed the read. Also a Fave - the first for a long time.
I'll echo that comment above, a refreshing read and well need words of nature!
Thanks for sharing
Much peace and respect
Brilliant!
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