O, the Solitude
Standing at a quadrivial on a wooded road,
knowing that each led to a mystical, ethereal place,
the lushness of the forest inspirational and incredible,
I opt for a footpath leading to a shady grove.
Far from the clamorous, chaotic world ever beating,
and beneath a weeping willow tree I find my solitude,
O, how unbelievable the bird songs each a ligure, a gem,
the forest a harmonious moan echoing my aloneness.
I behold the scented flowers unfolding and unfurling,
the murmur of a meandering stream not that far away,
while filigree clouds drift above a dark green canopy,
and in my mind is held a reservoir of words.
Closing eyes, I listen, I listen, then take up my pen,
and I write, I write, I write the lazy, beautiful day away,
that I may offer you a fleeting, momentary pericope,
of my words this summer day . . .
__________________
July 9, 2013
Poetry/Narrative/O, The Solitude
Copyright Protected, ID 107-491-409-09
All Rights Reserved, 2013, Constance La France
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