Paintings

 

 

Green.

Rolling, lolling green.

High green,

Darkest in tree rows

Planted by some ancient hand.

Richest in mud flows

Rivers from hills sunk to land.

 

White graces,

Straight line and gate.

A church there nestled

Finds Sundays rapt vessel

Who glories in

Spring colors come late.

 

 

Amidst green valley hillsides,

Wind blown,

Small tufts of yellow

Seeds thrown

on the wind ride.

 

 

Smeared yellow blushes

On green cheeks

Above the rustle

Of sound creeks.

The tides of May churn below me.

 

Brown wings

And black;

Hawk glides easily

Looking for things, Meal!

On wind floats breezily.

 

Light blue the cover

Of sky is.

Resting so gently

My eye is

On Sunday noon colors

From Earth.

 

gf