Cloud Ballet
The lake grasses rustle in the soft wind
grown brittle with the season's passing,
slim wooden tubes of melody;
they pipe summer's passing song . . .
over sung by bold tree
frogs' laughter rising
in a louder
chorus that
drowns out
all
sounds
nature
offers up.
My canoe slips
soundlessly across
mirrored waters where clouds
sway in reflected ballet,
graceful adagio flowing.
They make my boat the central figure.
It pirouettes in time to nature's song.
Copyright, September 9, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2014
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