Gentle Grace Poem by stella armour

Gentle Grace


Tall grasses sway pink at sunset
as clouds seeping to a sleepy depth
drown softly in their scarlet lakes
haunting old mirror reflections.

Distantly hazes of purple heather
glow gilded in an antique bronze bloom
as a field of crimson poppies
bleed beautifully before my eyes.

I stand in awe amidst the tranquil trees
as they cast long slumbering shadows
into the dying embers of twilight;
then whisper subtle shades of stillness.

Such gentle grace.

© Stella Armour 2017