Languid lakes levitate my soul.
Mists hang low upon those hills,
While mountains scratch the surface of the sky.

The world is whole,
So full of thrills.
No time to reason why.

Galaxies spiral, out of control,
Stars swirling in milky swills.
Scenes I hope will never die.

Yet time, I’m sure, will take its toll.
And do whatever our God wills.
Oh no! I hear you cry.

Yet look at coal, or any tree bole.
And look at fields of daffodils.
Life’s next cycle is always nigh.

Paul Butters