A Poem

What lies within

In the wren-like standing grass
where light gathers slowly,
the flowers watch us walk past,
passing quietly.
Your sigh says we rest,
and we sit restlessly,
watching the flowers softly wave
past, the distant trees lapping quietly:
echoing the light.
As we watch, your shadow in light
takes on the shades of evening,
as you lean like a flower.
The path leads like a stem.