Open Poetry #34 |
Life At The Wtares Edge. |
Goldenrose Member Elite
since 2003-05-30
Posts 3665 |
Mists of dawn peel back the morning, newly awoken. Courting birds copy and display, in murky cold gloom. Clouds darker than night, race astride water and trees embarassingly bare, in the bleak winter tempest. Water gardens beneath mirror reflected crystal film. Verdant green plants gleam in the amber aquatic greenhouse. Scratchy songs of reedbirds, by floating circles of lilypads, and yolk yellow of water iris, fleck colour onto the scene. A shadow drifts slowly above the reedbeds, a harrier, quarters, twists, dives, swerving on hissing air. Graceful, alert, a legend alive, a beauteous God of the air, it hunts just like the life it leads, free. The simple beauty of swans and geese call their wild sounds. Swirling reeds, like submerged wheat fields, blow in the clearest air. Wilderness of sheer beauty, a world created by a power higher and perfect, God's world may not be killed by humans. The supreme happiness in life is the conviction that we are loved. (Victor Hugo.) |
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© Copyright 2004 P.D - All Rights Reserved | |||
DavePage Member Elite
since 2003-12-21
Posts 2917 |
Very good Dave |
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