Creekside

Blessings
reflected from the pools
while children play
in leaf tones yellow-green
and sky tones
blue and silver gray.

Blessings...I sit enforested
and praise the primal one,
the silent raining down of sun.
Scarecrow Prophet Cast across the late-toned landscape,
useless tatter, twice disowned,
I sketch a line that wind has honed,
a portrait ragged, elemental, almost sleek
and bear a tale that streaming air,
unrobed, can't speak.

by Leona Mason Heitsch

Other poems of LEONA MASON HEITSCH (2)

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