Walking, As She Would
singing, entrancing
the winding stream cleaves the high valley
grey mist consoles silent sentinels
of a remnant sylvan ribbon
midwinter dawn excites the sleeping wild rose
all is whiteness and the frost is on the slopes
the naked orchard anticipates
the saw and the secateurs
huddled workers around a rusting tractor
breathing mist to the mist
wait patiently for the diesel to thaw
hushed they spy the mountain lorikeets
flashing crimson and ultramarine among the branches
free from their daily shreak and chatter
each one alights alone upon a silver branch
perfect silence abounds in the zen moment
slowly they begin to chime one to another
single notes of living sound ring across the white hollow
no temple bell can imitate or artist's brush convey
such transcendent beauty
the bright-eyed workers stand transfixed
dawn's first breath precedes the rising of the sun
perhaps it is the deepest sigh
of the very queen of heaven
walking as she would
wakening the minds of men from their long slumber
to become aware of her untamed beauty
before it fades forever from the world
Copyright © Steven Hanlon | Year Posted 2015
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