Wispy calligraphy draws me into
The wintered blue that eyes and so lightly
Veils her shoulders in fine–twigged taupe lace
Fair weathers bop softly near southern skies
Drawn out curly-breaths send life to her clay
As if His chubby cheeks were blowing song
Ethereal devotions to concept
Ancient voyeur for many new quill-ed
Ones, their delicate nests now expose-d
Engineer-ings unique to their authors
Transitory weavings for feathered
Nurseries- playpens of precious plume-d
Three circle and play in her afternoon streams
Gliding peacefully in rays of salience
At a distance, leaves impersonate
Bouncing about on boughs like tiny mocking-
Birds in dappled light, obscured treasures
Dangling withered and dry high aloft
Soon to be gently sent floating to her
Soft moss-ed-beds of fragrant red cypress
Commingling whiffs trail in from heavens hearth
Warming contemplative lures to His love
(English Mountain, Tennessee
November 13,2006)
One could quote Petrarca, so in a manner of speaking, every thing is fine in this poem of ambience, neither too melancholy, as well as one see the clouds moved by the wind at montain and enjoy them.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I don't know quite how you manage to write so delicately and gently about the same scenes I see, and convey the beauty so well, but I must admit, I am green with envy of your talent! Maybe it is your location? Scarlett