Open Poetry #16 |
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Echoes of Life |
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WindWalker Senior Member
since 2001-10-12
Posts 1218 |
Echoes of Life When I see the squirrels gather hazel nuts in an orchard; salmon struggling up a swirling stream; the sun streaming over alpine flowers; an eagle soaring, a pin-point on the horizon; the thunder storm replenishing streams; people interacting with each other; When I hear waves crashing against an ancient rocky shore; hear the rustling of cottonwood leaves as I stand on a hill over the city; when I hear a gull’s cry overhead; or observe people talking and laughing at a sidewalk café near by; When a soft breeze ruffles my hair as I cross a tree-lined boulevard; when I enjoy the sun’s warmth on my skin or feel the touch of another in times of need; All of this and so much more reminds me of the beauty of Earth; how privileged I am to have experienced just one colorful sunrise; to have made love, just once, under the roots of a big old tree on the banks of a river: to be one of the echoes of life. |
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© Copyright 2001 Sharran WindWalker - All Rights Reserved | |||
Enchantress Member Empyrean
since 2001-08-14
Posts 35113Canada eh. |
All of this and so much more reminds me of the beauty of Earth; how privileged I am to have experienced just one colorful sunrise; to have made love, just once, under the roots of a big old tree on the banks of a river: to be one of the echoes of life. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ WindWalker, this is very beautiful and so full of great images!! I loved it all, including the strong finish, which completed it very nicely. Well done! ~hugs, Nancy~ ~I've loved you forever, in lifetimes before.~ |
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Marge Tindal![]() ![]() ![]() ![]()
since 1999-11-06
Posts 42384Florida's Foreverly Shores |
WindWalker~ 'how privileged I am to have experienced just one colorful sunrise; to have made love, just once, under the roots of a big old tree on the banks of a river: to be one of the echoes of life.' You've written a little slice of my heart~ Thank you so much for sharing this beauty~ *Hugs* ~*Marge*~ ~*The pen of the poet never runs out of ink, as long as we breathe.*~ |
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