The sun is high, the skies are bright,
I walked along the trail this morn;
snow atop the hills...a lovely sight,
just like a new day had been born.
The air was sharp and crystal clean,
the breezes blowing soft and cool;
the landscape was a pastel scene,
and God's hand, the artist's tool.
Willow Lake spread out it's face,
water's depths, are now diminished;
our long drought has left it's trace,
with the seasons almost finished.
Still the view is pleasant to the eye,
the geese and ducks swim out or wade;
and weathered stalks of grass do lie,
in this creation that's been made.
The morning's warmth is gaining fast,
I turn and head back, to my car;
and what was now... does not last,
what was close, now seems too far.
David Lessard's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Images. by David Lessard )
- Sips through lips, Aftab Alam
- The Mature Woman 2, Tex T Sarnie
- Invitation for Re - Opening Ceremony!, sisirachandra vaduge
- Unbarreled Gun, Edwin Cordero
- Thread of thought, Roann Mendriq
- Baking Bread, Roann Mendriq
- Completion, White Lily
- Tears, Michael McParland
- Spin of a coin, Tribhawan Kaul
- Knowing Fragments, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
Poem of the Day
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
- Heather Burns
(6 January 1878 – 22 July 1967)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)