Eyes closed and mind a wander
There are gentle feet bare
Stepping over low clovers and moss
Misty morning
And soft sun
Hidden behind the clouds
Grey lake
Slow and calm
And evermore inviting
Freezing water
Against the ankles
Remind us we're still alive
Whispers of trees wish us well
And gently tell us to go back
The water disappears
And the moss vanishes
And when we open our eyes
We're where we were when we started
And barely any time has passed
But it's been a few hours
And our bare feet still holds
The grey water's chill
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Book 4
Poetryhello again! another poetry book - number four, to be exact. if you've been here a while, you know the drill: there's no order to this thing, and after 100 poems or writing pieces, there's gonna be a new book. about the cover: it was a Thursday at S...
