The wind on high blows and branches bow on the tallest of trees and together they lean in shades of the brightest greens,
walk with me along the high heath and gather flowers that spray all around your knees as your face feels the warm summer breeze and you forget for a moment your wants and your needs and you transcend life it seems,
but always the greens come back to me in my imagination as if on a canvas a painting I’ve dreamed were the tallest of trees leaning together to make all of the shades of the brightest of greens.
I am a poet through and through and anyone that tells you different you must deny it and slap them across the face very roughly indeed. I love the normal things in life and turning them into mysterious meaningful emotionally attached fascinating object or subjects.