The clouds hang low,
Hugging the warmth
Of the forest’s breast.
Burnt trees stand starkly bare
Among the rain-scrubbed family of trees,
Tightly arranged
For this cool morning picture.
Then Mother Sky slowly bends
And gently scoops the wandering clouds
Back up from their green playground
To the home pasture overhead.
This is totally my kind of poetry. If you will do me the honor of checking my honesty by reading a couple of mine, you will understand why your verses stir my soul. One that comes to mind is, "Afterburn" another is "Survival," even though the latter is on quite a different theme. Thank you for sharing your gift, Moreah. Love and peace to you,
This paints a vivid picture, Moreah, especially the picture.....
"Mother Sky slowly bends
And gently scoops the wandering clouds
Back up from their green playground
To the home pasture overhead."
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"Mother Sky slowly bends
And gently scoops the wandering clouds
Back up from their green playground
To the home pasture overhead."
Peace. Joyce