deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Meditators
Two women stood, facing East,
Rooted, to the green earth, still,
Arms embraced the firmament,
Trees veiled the rolling hills.
Still, for a moment, a rosy child,
A speck of sun nestled in his locks
His straight dotted-line curiosity,
Magnifying glass intense,
For as long as moments last,
A dainty butterfly caught his eye,
Towed him in spasmodic cheer,
The field hued in mirthful cries.
The golden kid with silver peals
The meditators, the season’s song
Evoked a nostalgic bucolic feel
That beckoned me to belong
Rooted, to the green earth, still,
Arms embraced the firmament,
Trees veiled the rolling hills.
Still, for a moment, a rosy child,
A speck of sun nestled in his locks
His straight dotted-line curiosity,
Magnifying glass intense,
For as long as moments last,
A dainty butterfly caught his eye,
Towed him in spasmodic cheer,
The field hued in mirthful cries.
The golden kid with silver peals
The meditators, the season’s song
Evoked a nostalgic bucolic feel
That beckoned me to belong
Published 23rd Sep 2021
| Edited 30th Jan 2023
Author's Note
Inspired by watching my son in the park, in the heat of a lovely summer.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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24th Sep 2021 12:14pm
24th Sep 2021 4:35pm
30th Jan 2023 5:58pm
Hoi hoi
Hope this finds you well.
Me too, I see gods hand in our children. But what a lovely way to write it down!
Thank you for posting.
Kind regards, Gus
Hope this finds you well.
Me too, I see gods hand in our children. But what a lovely way to write it down!
Thank you for posting.
Kind regards, Gus
30th Jan 2023 6:11pm
