Footprints Poem by james watkin
Footprints
The sky leaves his in puddles.
The sea, in froth-kicked up weed.
The wind, in what stamps a change
Behind, as leaf rust; layed seed.
And are these of a dark sole
Strode out from tree, stealthy
Not stark for a creeping Time?
Now grass of it - dewy!
Tuesday, June 18, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: nature
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6/16/2024 10:21:49 AM # 1.0.0.1119
