Words To Wine

When colors pouring from the sky Pretend, in passing, to be free Of memories which want to tie Me down, I smile and let them flee. The faded paint of long ago Was washed away by children’s hands Before the blinding wind and snow Had come in waves from foreign lands. I asked my conscience in what way I might avoid its plainest trails, Yet it had not a thing to say While cranes were voicing haunting wails. I thus decided it was time To leave my barren crib behind, And walk along a straighter line Until some restful place I’d find. At last I came across a field Where Spring had left behind a sign That she would soon return to wield Her right to turn my words to wine. Since no one could besiege me there, I sat in silence by a tree And mustered all that I could bear To set myself, like colors, free. Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com