as the world speeds by,
I drink from the cup
of summer fields,
glowing in light's embrace;
taste the sweet blue warmth of sky,
roll the clouds on my tongue;
imagine the farmer
stepping from his shed
with scythe in hand...
God waves like wheat
in a field of wind.
1 comment:
Lovely. I especially like "roll the clouds on my tongue"; it immediately set me to thinking, what must that be like?
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