Heaven
I lay
In a field
On a hillside soft
with grass
Oblivious
To the damp
The insects
Ultraviolet
I feel
A tug of wind
At my shirt
Caress my face
The instant warmth
Of a friendly sun
On exposed flesh
I believe
That somehow
This has all been orchestrated
Just for me
And I’m exactly where
I ought
To be
Copyright © Brian Densham | Year Posted 2018
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