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Why I Tilled My Thoughts
I tilled my thoughts--
near a sparkly stream, where
a rainbow bridge linking the past,
the present, and the future
of an exquisite aroma
of my morn sighs, ‘til it dawned upon a pink butterfly,
like the great orb. Ahh, countless times I
tilled my thoughts, while
li’l robin chirping in the young evergreen, which
out-shadowed grandpa’s oak tree,
where crimson love was once
etched on it. I did
the etching. And, the mystic spring sipped the blood
that oozed from her scented body, waking up
the wild tares eagerly casting their sleek shadows
to attract warblers, to play with them. Hmm,
the thoughts, cultivated
near a sparkly stream, like blooms
written in a poem--
can connect not only poets.
Copyright ©
Ernesto P. Santiago
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