Nicholas Windle Poet I do not know?

Pleasure Is

Pleasure is.
So sweet the seasons sounds,
That makes for those summer days.
Skies make for a back drop of hues of blue,
Sweet mowing grass now sheared as hay.

Upon my face the beads of perspiration,
As I wipe my fevered brow.
The days now long as I swing forth the scythe,
High above the sun beats down.

A shout breaks my concentration,
For it is Mary who is my love.
Under a large oak tree she shelters,
Truly a pure vision from above.

For with her a wicker basket,
Its contents now lay out before.
She beckons me come forward,
Asl my senses cry out for more.

In her tender arms my head gently lies,
Beneath a canopy of green.
 Dappled sun light highlights her flowing hair,
For the world id trade, for these moments gleaned.

©N . Windle. 2009

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Joan Donnelly Ellis October 8, 2015 at 9:21 PM Sweet, Sweet, Sweet Brought memories of my Grandfather who cut long grass with a scythe. My son has a scythe as a decoration in his flower bed. If you keep writing like this you will have your own books.

Carol Sunshine Brown October 8, 2009 at 5:45 AM What a heartfelt write Nicholas. Thank you for sharing it today. Love, Carol

Sara Kendrick October 7, 2009 at 2:17 PM Very descriptive and very romantic. Keep writing. Sara