I found myself against a willow propped.
The stones nearby me were a hundred-fold.
and one by one I tossed them as they plopped
into a rill while other pebbles rolled,
as if with one accord, away from me.
Their hundred ripples bubbled sweet champagne.
I drank. . . and then I tasted poetry.
saw flowers dance, and nothing was mundane!
Elysian then became the air I breathed.
The sun glowed purplescent. Hocus-pocus!
I lay in greenest green while music wreathed
the meadow, lulling me. . . till I lost focus.
I woke to dusk and that inquietude
that ever shadows my dark solitude.
For PD's GREEN contest (old poems only)