It’s quiet here now, the only sound
The gentle rustle of dry leaves
Stirred by a brisk November breeze
And the softly crackling embers
Of the inviting fireplace within.
Wispy curls of smoke spiral heavenward
From the cosy little bunky
Tucked into the trees
Like its part of the forest!
And down in the gently sloping meadow
Where soaring golden grasses
Sashay like ripples on a lake
Evening shadows linger…
And I am captivated
For just beyond the line of ghostly birch
Deer cavorting with complete abandon!
Their freedom is palpable, their joy infectious!
And the sigh comes right from my soul!
For here in this peaceful place
My vision is always crystal clear!
© Annabel Sheila
Regis
Crystal clear your vision of November heavenward whispy
curls of smoke. Breezes to a whif and rustle of leaves. The little 'bunky' a cozy fire in the hearth, quilts to snuggle
and hot chocolate. To warm our hearts today.
Wonderful poem sigh comes right from your soul.
Lady Mary Ann
Deborah
Joy L. Hale
Ron
budd
Your friend; Mark