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Wearing the Green

Under a fading Celtic moon, half a coin left over from last night, my sheep are feasting on pasture lush and wild with turkeys’ wings. A titmouse chick-a-dees from an oak that’s spring-fresh green. On hands and knees, I harvest Indian lettuce for a salad. Do sheep wonder at my human foraging? I’ll come back home wearing colors of the field, muddy knees grass-stained; I’m hungry to savor my tiny isle of green.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2012

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Date: 2/16/2012 6:05:00 PM
Taylor, green is my mean... lol.. favorite color.. i can imagine that celtic moon... I truly enjoyes this poem... 5 times... adding this to my favorite poems..this was a very xool poem to read... thank you for sharing...always~ ;-) PD
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