She stares away
and smiles
crooked
when the wind blows
laughing at the sun
and running
she's running
running after dandelion snow.
Through the meadow
where the sweet spring spills
down to the sluice
and the old grist mill
beneath the curtains
of the gnarled and wispy willow...
Hand-me-down slipping
over sun-skin-beams
daintily dipping
in the rising stream
Eve is dripping
yet she doesn't let the chill show.
I stay away
and day-dream
drowsy
until the wind blows
dancing with the leaves
and waiting
I'm waiting
waiting for the drifts to grow.
Barefoot breathless
where the willows lean
falling fences
and the river between
swiftly carried
to the edge of the leaping waterflow.
Cashmere clouds
hanging in the air
swirling strands
of angel hair...
Black-eyed Susan
never let your petals go.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
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5 comments:
Thanks Louise. I appreciate your compliment, and am quite enjoying your poetry as well on "Stripped."
A breathless delight this has been, running carefree alongside 'her,' through the landscape of your poetry. ^_^ You've created remarkable images here, Keith. A treat, I reckon, for any painter. Cheers.
Thank you, as always, Ms. Soul-
beautiful
Many Thanks Madame B.
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