On dreamlike days I'm taken to that land
and hope to live among such splendid scenery.
But spiteful mornings break away my hand,
and I am falling to reality.
Oh, land of fragrant trees, dark and fruiting.
Rivers running sweet and heavy as mead,
And 'cross the caves cascading, glittering.
Joy springs, coating soft hills in golden wheat.
When time arrives and rakes his fingers here;
The fields fallow lie as rivers dry;
The hills erode into deserts of fear;
Yet happily would I remain to die,
Guarding its greatest treasure, still as true:
This land all, unmistakably, is you.
YOU ARE READING
Second Thoughts
PoesiaCollection of random poems I think of from time to time. Thought it might be better to collect them into one, rather than having lots of separate files. No particular theme, and the poems may or may not be completed.
