Wednesday, December 17, 2014

This Wonderland




From bastions of burdened skies
The painter spills white butterflies
Like sequined lace they softly cling
To every ordinary thing
And suddenly the dull and plain
Is full of majesty again

The hill becomes a rolling sea
Of whitecaps gilding golden lea
And where the wild flowers would blow
Now blooms a field of fallen snow
As we of wanderlust demand
An hour extra from time’s hand

This wonderland startles the eye
We tip our chins to kiss the sky
Heaven and earth are heart to heart
Its pulse of God spills in star-art
Soft, soft upon the countryside
Nature is like a beaming bride

© Janet Martin



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