It's Magical Poem by Phil Soar
It's Magical
A cold April morning
where the sun has not yet warmed the soul
and a shallow and white frost glistens
making images of winter return
chilling evidence that we can be fooled
and that nature cannot be controlled
nor should it be
It matters not that a few seedlings might be lost
or that a few extra moments clearing screens
will lengthen your morning
It's nature
and it's just magical
isn't it?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/19/2024 10:15:06 AM # 1.0.0.1119
