Jul 2016
Sweet innocence painted on the hills forehead
As free as the quiet night as loud as the thunderous gods,
The waking days, eternal romantic essentials
Angelic wings touched the lush below, the celestial being calming it's calf - the suckling weaned, hushed under moonlight starlets
The entry to the lush of simple being, the center of nostalgia, hidden with trinkets of history
It's story is a tale creating the homely care, shushing the fears of the frightened children. The green mountain hills sing the lullabies of lulling sleep.
So sound asleep, the whole night whispers...
Good graces, to doze off into eternal silence
As free as the quiet night as loud as the thunderous gods,
The waking days, eternal romantic essentials
Angelic wings touched the lush below, the celestial being calming it's calf - the suckling weaned, hushed under moonlight starlets
The entry to the lush of simple being, the center of nostalgia, hidden with trinkets of history
It's story is a tale creating the homely care, shushing the fears of the frightened children. The green mountain hills sing the lullabies of lulling sleep.
So sound asleep, the whole night whispers...
Good graces, to doze off into eternal silence
Summers ago I went to a farm in Canada. I fell in love with the farm and I always think back to those moments as some of the fondest and wholesome memories. Im hoping in this poem my memory captures the time spend at the farm in its very essence.
