Following the waving trees,
the same direction as the breeze,
as if a thermal element
was wafted with my gait,
as blown along beside the river,
downstream with it's flow,
I felt a kind of impetus,
impulsive like a joy,
that grabs the psyche,
swings the spirit in high gear,
a thrill of moving onward
through the day and year,
as if time were anonymous
and I a mere convolvulous,
that happened to be flowering today.
Ann Waddicor August 2013.
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 9:43 AM UTC
Following the waving trees,
the same direction as the breeze,
as if a thermal element
was wafted with my gait,
as blown along beside the river,
downstream with it's flow,
I felt a kind of impetus,
impulsive like a joy,
that grabs the psyche,
swings the spirit in high gear,
a thrill of moving onward
through the day and year,
as if time were anonymous
and I a mere convolvulous,
that happened to be flowering today.
Ann Waddicor August 2013.
One from my collection of poems of joy.
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