It Occurs To Me
Reeds swaying at the edge of rushing water,
Two hawks whirling and circling each other,
The measured movement of light and shadow,
Oak leaves lifting and spinning in the wind,
Pines boughs leaning and touching in a storm
And two geese gliding in the rhythm of rain,
The way a fawn prances around a doe . . .
From these, as we looked out from our caves
And the first forests, did we learn to dance.
Poetry by countryfog
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Written on 2011-09-12 at 18:22
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ngaio Beck |