Of Infinity
Colors of leaves in autumn weave a lovely quilt
covering the countryside, woods, and waters
falling like snowflakes from the tallest of trees
lighting the forest like a candelabra until the first snow.
She was there by the pond painting the weeping willows;
She never spoke a word, just watched the trees and their
swaying branches in the late afternoon breeze then
disappeared into the haze of a newborn twilight.
There was poetry as she floated silently above the grass
while wavelets ran up the beach chasing little shorebirds
and rhythms in ebbing waves upon rocks;
like the taste of a tear as it slowly finds its way to the lips.
Broken cobwebs capturing pieces of dead leaves
now turning pirouettes like a ballerina in the breeze
hanging there suspended between tall trees.
Hearing the tolling of the valley’s brass bell;
faithful in awe at a soft whispering magic of the moon.
Birds at the feeder bring a smile to one’s dull day
while tired of sitting in the sun praying for a halcyon rain.
Hearing sister crying brushing knots out of her long hair;
I wonder about the ghost girl painting the weeping willows
reappearing in a wispy smoke on the breeze;
an enchantment of infinity to those who believe.
This Or That, Vol 8 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
11/17/2021
Copyright © Ken Allan Dronsfield | Year Posted 2021
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