I often wonder if there’s anything more left to express. If the sighs emanating from my chest are validation enough. Decades to decades, mankind continues to make the same mistakes; strewing salt on the ebony night sky when in truth it is the sun that’s all deserving: of mindfulness, of ardor, of all things constant.
Like hydrangea on a wedgewood plate I offer love; I knew, from the moment I set eyes upon that you are mine. I want you, of course! How could I not? One cannot help but glow knowing someone, somewhere smiles tenderly. February has commenced with the wisdom of rolling clouds, a thousand greys from deep to pale. The kind of preamble where a kiss could linger.
I went out to the hazel wood because a fire was in my head, approached it like topiary and clipped it into art.
Photo credits: Red and blue hydrangea, Unsplash
Kim is our hostess at dVerse where she invites us to write
using a line from a poem by William Butler Yeats. I chose
to be in sync with Valentine’s Day. Come join us! 💝
Posted for Prosery: ‘The Song of Wandering Aengus,’ @ dVerse Poets Pub