THE SONG

 

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Rare harmony, the grays and greens
spill off the hills like stringed music
in the gloaming, naked oaks in granite,

cows and calves bent to new grass
step slowly mowing earth and rain
at work in the bright of day and night.

Like sea tides rising, each blade eager
twists towards the moon in cool darkness,
drawn to listen to heaven’s basic chords.

A wild sound is playing now outside
while waiting for a cloud, for the strum
of winter storms to prolong the song.

 

2 responses to “THE SONG

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