She Sat


High above the hills and glens
the wind swirled around
her white laced satin gown.

The blinking embers
have fallen deep into
the wild flowers.

She dips her brush
curls her wee toes.
Each stroke emerges a layer
of my soul
reaching far through the
channels of her
Secret Garden.






Poetry by gordon
Read 564 times
Written on 2007-02-20 at 02:29

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Gorgeous work, I have been in those glens and your poem evokes the spirit of them and her and you, perfectly. Welcome to Poetbay, Smiling at you, Tai
2007-02-22


betsy Firefly
Very sweet! I can just picture her wee toes!
2007-02-20