|
| |
The Nestle
A branch, long and slender,
With thin thorny tips—free and tender.
A drop like bag of grass weave sag,
Tied beneath the shreds with a tight tag.
Alone in nestle, quietly sunk,
A fine cool breeze rolls past the bank.
It smoothens and washes each silent piece,
As the nest swings—bringing calm and peace.
A weeping stream of crystal below,
Claims the noise in my mind with its flow.
A rare soft heart in fragile grace,
In that small home, I’ve found my place.
My finer parts in a thin siesta,
While the noon sun glows in golden vista.
A dream unfolds, with crowned truths wide,
Spreading in ripples where calm pools hide.
Copyright ©
Samuel Muuo
|
|