Friday, November 23, 2012

Grasses sift and twist


Grasses sift and twist

Grasses sift and twist
Tall and deep amber stalks
Moving with each gentle brush of wind
The sun is distant
A golden orb raining warmth
The smell of the turning leaves
Almost like they are toasting
The dry bitter snap of twigs
Crackle of leaves beneath my feet
The wind lifts my hair
Gentle, so incredibly gentle
Like a parent saying
I am here child
I am here

Carrie Lin R. Jones September 24, 2000 ©

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