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.