Travel with me and enter
into the flower carpeted mountain meadows
of my youth;
Lose yourself in the wild beauty which resides within
God's tinted skies of yellow and vermouth.
Vested memories held captive by eidetic moments,
"Oh blessed beating heart, "
enter the flowered thoughts of a poet's nest, delve into the
sanctuary of God's Grace,
for it is here that you belong.
Seen through the eyes, felt with the heart
ensconced with a soul your free to roam,
inside roads less traveled, where timeless voices
are heard, through the echoes of all time.
You belong to the One who has given you,
both shape and creed.
INDEED, ON WHATEVER PLANE WE BE...'HE' IS OURS AND WE ARE 'HIS'! AMEN. ENJOYED THANKS FOR SHARING, MYSTIC. LOVE, BLESSINGS AND FAITH...HIS+INSPIRATIONS
Your poem caused me to seek the colors of vermouth. I recall the red, but preferred the Blanco that was a slight yellow in my gin martinis with an olive surprise. None of that "shaken not stirred" nonsense written by Ian Fleming.
As I age and look back on what I see in the past of the great beauty that is all around us, your poem has become more real and even the flowering weeds in my yard I insist stay until the emerging insects have had their fill of the sweet nectar before they are brutally killed by a lawnmower to make Houston lawns look merely the same old green, green, green .
Ron
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As I age and look back on what I see in the past of the great beauty that is all around us, your poem has become more real and even the flowering weeds in my yard I insist stay until the emerging insects have had their fill of the sweet nectar before they are brutally killed by a lawnmower to make Houston lawns look merely the same old green, green, green .
Ron