I'm in the back of forward, and the front of backward,
A place where the weeds in the water grow still;
Where the wind among the leaves and the leaves below the sky
Are unbothered.
I feel at home here, sitting by the water, Where no one else is
And there is not even the whisper of a house.
I'm alone.
A place to sit and think thoughts of peace and silence
While the rushing stream goes on.
A place I don't think will ever change its mien.
Time stills.
Being away from human noise and busyness to escape
To where I am
Listening to the sweeter sounds of nature's lives
Living on.
And if time didn't have to keep moving on
I guess I'd be there still
Listening.
Not interrupting.
Forever.
YOU ARE READING
Attic flower
PoetryA flower found in the attic is a treasure bringing back good memories of great times. This anthology is a collection of all kinds of poetry, like the contents of a good old attic.
