Is It Poetry
This day is full of clouds with trees that move
my thoughts trail off to you.
The wind moves the leaves, fluttering some float on the ground.
Each cottage deflects the heat of the day
it is humid, wet there's no breeze.
Some thing alive my thoughts they do
is not a thought thinking of you consider them that.
I have discovered truth and truthfulness squandered youth.
The birds still sing I seek the past with you.
Hidden here today the sun it is the grass is green and tall.
Sheep I've lost count green their woolly faces.
Thinking to the one in front and he race's
to the one's left behind-the-scenes beyond.
Lunesta the moons out of fase it is struck by me
how we use to.
This day is full of clouds and they have fleeced me.
Cutting through the forest of tall trees to meet you.
Floating down stream there to greet you.
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Comments about this poem (A Day-Piece by Is It Poetry )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
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