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Friar Butte Palace of Old Moorish
©1-18-2020, Olan L. Smith
I saw the bird outside my window sill
The trees were summer green in wooded land
I do not dare so blink, in case, my will
To capture owl with this my camera hand,
An image pressed within my mind, my dome,
And Hence to rove my pad, a feverish
Arena left to find lost retro-chrome,
In Friar Butte Palace of Old Moorish.
They say those days are finished and done,
For this old man to rush about for glimpses
Of nature, think of it, a charm a fun,
To seize a grandeur's spark, if God so blesses.
YOU ARE READING
Poems from the Quill, by Olan L. Smith
Poetry"Poems from the Quill" is where I place current works that don't fall into other collections. It is here you will find obscure poems that range from constraint to free-verse. I began this collection as a contest entry, years ago, for what was then t...
