Post by carndo on Jan 31, 2005 2:36:41 GMT -5
Colors of bright and vivid shades
blanket beneath the disintegrating canopy,
crunching with the footsteps of man and beast,
signifying the end of summer and welcoming Fall,
and those hues touch in a miracle of time,
blessed splendor of Her silent spirit,
emerging in a sea of aromas.
Wistful kisses of Her breath
sweetly caress the soul,
wafting pleasures of her existence,
to the senses of all
as twilight peaks, smiling only in a mountainside
and a whisper of wind refreshes a heart,
crisp in an autumn wave . . . footfall by footfall.
Perfumes of logs aflame,
linger just beyond touchability,
waiting for the perfect moment
to brush up against the senses,
as the horizon mires in its completeness,
and in the distance...the song of the coyote
illuminated by the painted canvas.
Like a tapestry of well woven rainbows,
she makes her presence known,
bleating Her spirit's cries,
and soothing hearts from Summer,
when golden hair's embraced in that ember, feathery warm,
wandering in the woods, trail by trail
and reclaimed only by the bears,
As silently as She crept in,
she wisps herself away,
giving way to Old Man Winter,
and leaving her memory behind,
as desire's met in that passage of time
where ravens speak in wisdom
and honor flows down rivers.
The weeping begins,
flowing tears of memories
into the liquid pools of Winter,
soon to freeze into another day.
Aug 11, 2002
Billy E. Whitehorn & Sonia D. Davis
blanket beneath the disintegrating canopy,
crunching with the footsteps of man and beast,
signifying the end of summer and welcoming Fall,
and those hues touch in a miracle of time,
blessed splendor of Her silent spirit,
emerging in a sea of aromas.
Wistful kisses of Her breath
sweetly caress the soul,
wafting pleasures of her existence,
to the senses of all
as twilight peaks, smiling only in a mountainside
and a whisper of wind refreshes a heart,
crisp in an autumn wave . . . footfall by footfall.
Perfumes of logs aflame,
linger just beyond touchability,
waiting for the perfect moment
to brush up against the senses,
as the horizon mires in its completeness,
and in the distance...the song of the coyote
illuminated by the painted canvas.
Like a tapestry of well woven rainbows,
she makes her presence known,
bleating Her spirit's cries,
and soothing hearts from Summer,
when golden hair's embraced in that ember, feathery warm,
wandering in the woods, trail by trail
and reclaimed only by the bears,
As silently as She crept in,
she wisps herself away,
giving way to Old Man Winter,
and leaving her memory behind,
as desire's met in that passage of time
where ravens speak in wisdom
and honor flows down rivers.
The weeping begins,
flowing tears of memories
into the liquid pools of Winter,
soon to freeze into another day.
Aug 11, 2002
Billy E. Whitehorn & Sonia D. Davis