The Glen
Faint wisps of fog pervade the glen;
I spy a chipmunk, now and then.
As, sitting there, beneath the pine,
the air smells like fine summer wine.
The wafting breeze soon clears the mist
and strokes my face, like I've been kissed.
A butterfly lights on my hand;
there is contentment in the land.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
