Along the cliffs,
the Swifts,
dart and dive through early drifting mists.
The clover, pink,
lifts its globular heads to morning dew,
and a handful of intrepid cyclists.
A fog horn sounds,
across the water,
echoing above the birds shrill songs
making them scatter.
No matter.
They will return again,
and resume their bright and cheerful communal chatter.
A seagull rides the thermals, its habitude,
hovering.
He's shrewd, always searching for food,
and one feels that one could easily intrude
upon this awakening solitude.
Glancing out to sea, you observe
that the haze is clearing,
and as you gaze,
you raise your eyes skywards
and liaise with the firmament,
your mind meditating
in a contented praise.
A wonderful poem that glides off the tongue with the ease of an accomplished ballet dancer Just beautiful Love duncan X
This is what most think of when they think of poetry: A blending of words and imagery, skillfully designed to elicit and emotion. This has it all. A beautiful piece. There is some much toadmire and lose oneself in.
Mornings like this? Thats why the Afterlife was created, I think, maybe.....IN THE MEANWHILE, BACK ON PLANET EARTH, You have just most impeccably described New Yorks Central Park East & All it's Radiant Majesty....Upon the Dawn of a freshly wrapped New Day...SPLENDID WRITE, Ernestine! ''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''FJR
Oh Ernestine....I miss these kinds of mornings. Thank you for helping me find my way back.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Great poetry. I can picture the scene in my mind. Beautifully written. Andrew x