A solitary flower
White against the green,
Radiant and virginal
Naturally pristine.
A lofty weathered oak tree
Wears a wrinkled skin,
Age is written on its bark
Strength lies locked within.
On the edge of hearing
A huntsman winds his horn,
In counterpoint to baying hounds
Both eerie and forlorn.
A frisky squirrel frolics
Midst branch and twig on high,
Higher still above us both
A soft September sky.
.
Copyright DM Pamment 24th September 2011
Comments
Silver Spun Sand | September 27, 2011 - 18:38
This has a lilting, almost lyrical quality about it, David. Very much enjoyed;-)
Tina xx
kheldar | September 28, 2011 - 11:27
Thank you Tina, I'm glad you liked it. I wrote it whilst on retreat at the weekend when I was in a very clear headspace.
:--) xxx
Silver Spun Sand | September 28, 2011 - 13:32
That explains it then...that almost ethereal feeling. I hope your weekend was worthwhile, and from this 'little gem', I would say it was;-) Take care. Tina xx