Take Your Time Recognize Dreams Poem by The Original Tom Maxwell

The tall fescue grass, on the bank,
Of the old mine pond, is a spring green,
The whistling, of the native birds,
For me to hear, the only sound,
Always beautiful, seasons change the scenes.
A whitish-gray sky, as I look above,
The opening buds, on a cluster of trees,
Thirty moons ago, everything was brown dormant
Looking out my window,
,
The warmth of the April sun wakes up nature,
So much beauty, for our eyes, to see.
As I stare in a trance, my mind not focused,
From what my eyes see, I am distracted back to reality,
As four medium size deer, across the creek,
One by one turning my way, keeping an eye on me,
Rain has started, as I sit in my home on higher ground,
Forty years, working for my means, when time permitted,
I cleaned up the swamp, the old pond,
Now time to enjoy, the dream, I created, and found.
The Original: Tom Maxwell ©4/11/2022 AD
2: 00 pm