When morning breaks in shades of wine...
with claret skies to blush the dawn...
I will stretch and yawn, and thank the night
for this polished, dappled day
I will wait until the sun is high, and dew upon the rose is dry
I'll have my cup, .. with toast and jam...
then, make escape, ..........for the quest begins,
to seek my small reward
It happens slowly...
gathering reason from an untamed mind
up into the meadow where the brambles climb
twisted and tangled, through the burgandy vines
deftly my fingers, while probing the maze
will reach for wild berries.....warm from the day
thumping their goodness, one after one
into the bucket, dented and worn
A search through thorns, a prick on my thumb
till my back is ripe, and wet in the sun
Finger painting my faded old jeans
Knowing my cheeks are flushing in pink
Sucking sweet juice from two crimson thumbs
Who cares a lick, of the thorns or a bee?
I am a bee, buzzing serenity...
plucking small bits of reason and sanity
taking home goodness in a battered tin pail
feeling alive, on this wild-flowered hill
Tonight's sweet delight, is warm berry cobbler,
oozing with goodness of juicy red gems
staining my tongue, and turning lips scarlet
dripping like blood drops onto my chin
Yet never as splendid, or tasting as fine,
as warmed by my smile, straight from the vine
Picking red berries, and freeing my mind
under clouds tinged vermilion
and a red crimson sun
For Frank's Contest: "Color"