Moon fills the northland, with an index finger pressed over its lips, gently whispering, “Quiet”,
with its foggy glow, wraps a dimming gift of presents, for the heavens, and you.
Mellow dew sparkles the floor where you catch your reflection in a shadow.
Blue eyes of daytime mirror mysteries of times past reflect, in your wisdom of thinking.
“I love this”, silent words that flow from your cool steamed breath, a Sunday church song.
Bare feet slide forward on the cold soft blades of newborn meadow fronds.
You come to the attention the overhead ceiling, the universe demands, the forever constellations.
Secrets of unknown stars and planets are shared, by the Lunar awareness in your mind.
When your spirit is stilled by this lullaby for your soul on this Springtime evening.
Graceful gifts of soft ducklings and kittens cross your inner visions, gifted by this night.
A bathing of wonder, in the meadow of the forest, where lambs sleep,
You feast on this unearthly coming together of solidity and spirituality, all have for all time.
Comments
Mark
"I don't think I need to tell you of your calibre in the eyes of other poets. As
usual you have far exceeded almost anyones expectations. May you live a long,
healthful life and creative life. You poet among poets!"
Thanks
Thank you Brotha
Mark
Mark...
"I wish that, logically, I understood more of the actual event you seem to be describing. It is beautiful, and I think that I understand. My only wish would be to sit and converse with you, if for only five minutes. How exciting!"