Beautiful blues
Strung on wisps of white lace clouds
The crisp slap of windsocks whistling
Faint melodies of Ole Buttermilk Skies
I believe I am a bird
Or a racing mare's tail
To glide on beams of sunlight
Dropping
Steady
From the
Sky
Panoramic picture prefect panoramas
Spoil phobias that would otherwise
Force me to close my eyes
As my feet touch earth
I realize I have just witnessed
God's design
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem