Amarillo skys sit late in the morning
Bitter refresh sits upon tongue
Cows restless ease forward in greed
Danger rarely lurks near due to the findings
Enchanting the world is no less dear
Findings are not hidden bit in clear sight
Greatness of patience is right
Heartless buffoons attempt to play fate
Ignornant of drives the wise do know
Just so the rare can be fair
Kinder words could be said yet
Let it be known amarillo skys
Meandering truths of simplier times
Not only in dreams of lonely lost dream
Open eyes to the heart of the matter
Posts are not the only clatter
Quiet the mind joy is easy made
Running back and forthwith is rather strange
Sandy shores or rocky cliffs beauty ignored
Traces of humanity lasting in bodies deep
Until we realize our real home
Vexing winters we shall know
Whittling down the joy is rest
Yarding through the unhappy nest
YOU ARE READING
March of the Flowers
PoetryOne by one, we march. We march. Our branches tired. Our leaves are wearied. March of the Flowers is a collection of poetry
