Diaphanously dancing upon
the breadth of sylphlike words
these voices leading earth and stone
within sententious expressions
where she wades into pools muddled
as cabalistic memories reveal
cryptical saws sharpening barb tools
over the solemnity of history's eyes
where her silver leaf maples whisper
wisdom crackling upon thistles thorns
I could for some reason travel back to memories of summers up at the camp where the maples would litterally shimmer in the breeze. Lovely write Vic.
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The captivating music of birds and the enchanting beauty of roses have, each in their own right, inspired people around the world for as long as anyone can remember. How the two combine with the challenges faced by a struggling writer in Georgia to c
Sheila
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