I skip to the rustle
of emerald leaves,
dandelions
riverfronts
in the bustleing breeze
kicking to the sun
and it’s holy choir
singing to my skin
and humming
within the safety
of serrated mountains
keeping tempo
above the earths momento
a trail of tears and hopes
worn in by my foregoers
can’t you hear it?
quiet and listen
this symphony
is our only theme
hold my hand, please
pull me close
careen with me
please
will you
dance with me?
B. Brown
(image courtesy of Pinterest)
Thanks! I needed your natural, dancing optimism today.