A Hill; Shrouded In Cloud
Let's take a stroll. Mindful
Each hilly step
But leads, ever closer
To a saint's rest.
Cloud pillowed; above
Herd's grassed request.
You, I. That world-detached.
If yet fleshed round.
In Heaven; whilst short of
Breathing our last.
There to stay. Til hunger
Catches up fast!
Copyright © James Watkin | Year Posted 2022
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment