Days there are
When I would roam,
‘cross field and meadow,
Far from home;
And smell the earth
Where’er might be
On hillsides, lakesides,
Silently.
And gazing at
The tree-etched skies,
Where colours chase
From side to side,
There is no loneliness
Out there,
With nature’s matching
Stride and stare.
And I would gasp
With free delight
At snow-capped peaks
Or ducks in flight,
At winking stars,
Or sulking moon
That waits for Earth,
A lone bassoon.
Never had I imagined these,
Not even now;
I know not a speck
Of universe ~
Nor how.
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 2:17 AM UTC
Days there are
When I would roam,
‘cross field and meadow,
Far from home;
And smell the earth
Where’er might be
On hillsides, lakesides,
Silently.
And gazing at
The tree-etched skies,
Where colours chase
From side to side,
There is no loneliness
Out there,
With nature’s matching
Stride and stare.
And I would gasp
With free delight
At snow-capped peaks
Or ducks in flight,
At winking stars,
Or sulking moon
That waits for Earth,
A lone bassoon.
Never had I imagined these,
Not even now;
I know not a speck
Of universe ~
Nor how.
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