Poetry

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I blithely stared out window yon at setting sun,
Pond’ring all the things that I had not yet done,
I spied a flower in the distant meadow fair,
And wished with all my heart that I could join it there.



As eyes were drawn to forest green within my view,
Where, playfully a buck and doe were bounding through,
They stopped to slake their thirst in trickling streams that course,
I longed to taste the water flowing from that source.

Next door a tiny child was playing in the yard,
He kicked a can from side to side, he kicked it hard!
A cheer rose up inside me when he feigned to win,
Inside my mind I joined the game that he played in.

Up upon the hillside stood one single tree,
And as I gazed it burned a hole inside of me,
For just as it was growing and moved not from there,
So I shall never speak or walk or play…

Here in this chair.

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