My inner poet begs to be set free. Some of these musings are old, some are new; some observed, others lived. Enjoy.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Quiet morning just past sunrise
Lips sip African coffee
Nose whiffs Honduran cigar
Eyes see twenty shades of green in hostas, grass, oaks, pines, the fence
Ears hear deer hiding in the woods
Heart slows to the beat of welcomed solitude.