Writing me Down

Monday, July 04, 2005

A terza rima

This is a draft, but an interesting experiment with quite a closed form.

Look up!

A path begins beneath the bracken’s grasp
Where clutching bramble fingers lurk unseen
And catch our clothing in their prickling clasp.

The path is cracked and overhung with green:
Sweet chamomile that soothes the humid air
And proud young stalks of corn together lean.

Although we cannot see them under there
Our feet rest firm upon the sun baked clay.
Heads down, we place our steps with focused care.

While by our side, vermilion poppies dance
Where sprays of buzzing biplanes couldn’t reach
Reminding us that all things have a chance.

A sea of dancing corn sweeps from its beach
And stretches to the gnarled oaks beyond
Who, in their timeless standing, patience teach.

Look up! A church spire points towards the sun
Around its feet the village hugs the hill
Half hidden by that sea of whispering corn

That rustles, whispers, beckons us, “Be still!
Lift up your eyes, enjoy the passing view
And trust that path will lead you from the hill.”

Look up! And trust the path will lead you true.


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