We could hide ourselves in dreary shades

or shine in our appeasing fight

between hopes and blind despair.

We are pushing our short lives forth

from its empty hardiness,

knowing we could choke before

the fields will lie still.


How much we ever bloom

in our crinkly tendrils creep

no arms in the fields of the meadow

are there ,to fold you.

Nobody to bow over your complexion

to save you in the Autumn sun

with white shades of pale.


 Although, and above all.

You are still the shimmer in the setting sun.

A lively murmur of a Summer day.

 Surrounded by wonders in moonlight,

you can reach the whole world around.

Your still living passion you bind in secret of thy art

to be found in many miraculous places.

October 2016 ©k.c.