'Been decades now as visitors
Do walk the Marsh's Trail
Grasses of gold and stories told
Of older days
Of stranger ways
Ah! Flash of Red..............a bird perhaps
Maybe a rose
Oh heaven knows
Children walk these paths 'round her edge
Eagle nest in bare tree
Cat tails they pick use walking stick
Never a fear
What's lurking near
A very bright Red butterfly
No could not be
Perhaps 'twas She
Bubbles of mud which go unseen
Within the depth of Marsh
Heat from within His murk of sin
Control hath She
Controling He
A flash of Red at sunset gives
The quiet Marsh
(the quiet Marsh)
When you suggested it was an epic poem, I expected a very long read.
And then I remember walking a trail along a ridge in northwestern Wisconsin, thinking that, perhaps, Native Americans had walked that same trail that animals regularly frequented, for thousands of years.
You've given me an idea for an epic poem that I could call, The Trail, that would be similar to but never as great as, Longfellow's Evangeline.
Perhaps "..Quiet Storm" will help rekindle old flames buried and long forgotten or express the love so deeply locked inside of your soul longing to be released.
Regardless of where you may be found in love this beautiful masterpiece can be
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Always,
Deborah
And then I remember walking a trail along a ridge in northwestern Wisconsin, thinking that, perhaps, Native Americans had walked that same trail that animals regularly frequented, for thousands of years.
You've given me an idea for an epic poem that I could call, The Trail, that would be similar to but never as great as, Longfellow's Evangeline.
Ron