I gently glide through the flowered fields of life,
My fingers tap the ends of the petals,
Habitually hitting like typewriting excercises,
Smooth but Jagged.
The wind blows mightily for a second,
As if warning me of trials forthcoming,
Pieces of pollen dance joyfully in the air,
And then sink to redemption.
The ground whispers as i pass,
Taking deep breaths,
As i climb the lowest mountain,
And cross the shallow vallies,
Copyright © Joshua Butler