Repose.
In dying moments low sun crept
into haziness making laced
veils into buttery bands
as end-of-day yellowness swept
tree-lined horizon.
Cows on lush fields dun-dappled
by shadows, chewing late
cud, trundled milk-laden
as pail-in-hand maidens tackled
beasts' creamy arrival.
Composed and performed music
of duty rings to slow plod
of well-rehearsed labour
when repose brings quell to usual
chores before revival.
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Author:
Fay Slimm. (
Offline) - Published: March 22nd, 2021 03:34
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 79
- Users favorite of this poem: Goldfinch60
Offline)
Comments7
So pastoral and romantic Fay - warms the cockles of my heart, even though I'm a denizen of the city.
Beautiful and such descriptive words Fay, I was watching the cows and the maidens as your words took me there. This one must go into my favourites.
Andy
(a wonderful read, dear Fay
and thanks for inspiring my little scribbled reply)
that illusive art of a subtle life: where self-worth's meaning
is imbued, in each completion
of incremental
self-set - itinerary ordered chores,
as our dream's: pathway
to those patiently actualised lofty goals..
A fine country write and pic Fay.
Your beautiful poem reminded me of the times as a kid, standing beside the farmer milking his cow and him letting me drink some of the still warm milk. Beautiful choice of words, as usual!
Transported to times past, both in verse and portrait.
Beautifully versed.
loved it faye,nice image
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