Capturing all that isn’t blue,
The sky, extending out of view,
Pitches over the gathered green,
Its grassy sheen
Draped, reflected, along the hills,
While quietly its wideness spills
Wider, as if its breadth defined
The limit of the viewer’s mind,
As if it flew
In chase of its reflected hues,
Whether robed in red or washed in gold,
Colored by what it cannot hold.
. Seminary Recalling days of vigor and simplicity, of boyish spirits spun from neural gossamer and hardened into granite by...
. A Poet's Plight I’ll think of a theme for my next little verse, intriguing and witty, though still must...
Thanks for reading and commenting, Gerard. These creatures in the deep ocean trenches are indeed denizens of the planet out…
Not many things are worse than a phony sense of being, but many persons have no fear of falling. Good…
Some members of my family, Adam, would tell you that I've got my head in the clouds. Some circulocutions come…
There's a first time for everything, Rachel. Alliteration is as old as poetry, but if you thought (felt) that in…
Thank you for reading and commenting. I appreciate that.
