To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
Click Here To add this poem to your "Voting Possibilities" list!
MORNING HAPPENS The leaves leaned over to hear a whisper from the stream as a butterfly kissed the glowing morning windshield of sky above the steaming eastern pasture. A hawk sank like a clawed dart and reappeared, talons filled with a white, furry wiggle. Blind mice don’t have tails, do they? With sight, the wiggle sped away into thoughts of baby food – or nothing at all. My thoughts soared through the windshield of sky, claiming a right to go where hawks, mice and butterflies converge. |
Additional Notes:
This is from my 4th book, Against the Tide, published in 2003 by Goose River Press, Waldoboro, Maine.
Sorry, there are no critiques for this poem in our system... If the poem is older, the critiques have been purged!