Poem By Ethel K. Meyer-Johnson
Soft sounds on my window pane,
Glimpses of silver streaks trickling down,
Freshness of heaven opening up,
Patters in puddles echoes its sound.
Sweet smell of honeysuckle,
Exuding fresh fragrance mixed with dew,
Thirsty trees with famished buds,
Stretching brown limbs bathed for our review.
Glassy windows have a way
of presenting impeccable scenes,
Viewed from fluffy feather beds
to bring sweet repose from restless dreams.