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The meadow
#WritcoPoemPrompt34
At the edge of the furthest mountain,
Between the valley and the lazy river,
Beyond the edge of the scented meadow,
I can see the hues painted by the setting sun... I watched has the meadow descended into the Earth and the life drew it forces from the trees and the rocks layed still, hallowed beneath the gaze of the grass.
The beauty of the world painted in red has the bird shaped into an angelic being with tunes and melody that captivate the sweet sounds that meditate your mind. The fullness of the meadow, the stuture and it's colorful pose has I looked deep within my soul; my breath my essence was transended into millions of memory, holding on forever.
© Keryiann Mcneil
At the edge of the furthest mountain,
Between the valley and the lazy river,
Beyond the edge of the scented meadow,
I can see the hues painted by the setting sun... I watched has the meadow descended into the Earth and the life drew it forces from the trees and the rocks layed still, hallowed beneath the gaze of the grass.
The beauty of the world painted in red has the bird shaped into an angelic being with tunes and melody that captivate the sweet sounds that meditate your mind. The fullness of the meadow, the stuture and it's colorful pose has I looked deep within my soul; my breath my essence was transended into millions of memory, holding on forever.
© Keryiann Mcneil
