Posted by
Pene in
General on
March 11, 2010 |
No Comments
There is a
sweetness in
friendship
like the honey taste
of pulled grass.
Warmth and growth
shared.
Years from now we’ll
remember
how it was . . .
Almost Aspen Grove,
a Sacrament of light,
high and burning
colour, autumn air,
a cricket orchestra and
Scottish thistles,
blue ones – see?
And around, all around,
the mountains
looking as if ancient fingers
folded...