Wealthy...

Is any wealth richer or grander than this?

The soft breath of dawn on night’s dark abyss

The wind as it chases through steeples of grass

Or dances on ball-rooms of sea-tempered glass

Wild-apple jewels on scraggy-cut limb

The timbre of reverence in twilight’s soft hymn

As far on the skyline each tree is a tower

Etched in precision like a delicate flower

The bird in the bower, the pale, new-moon wraith

The innocent wonder of a child’s perfect faith

The bumblebee hovering o’er delicate bloom

Drunken with nectar from spring’s heady plume

The patchwork of shadows, warm memories to hold

The sway of the willow-tree feathered in gold

The bronze-burnished blush in the waning of day

The impromptu hush as the wind drops away

Then let miser’s covet the fruit of the purse

Money and the love of it is but a curse

Genuine riches leap from vaults at hand

Sapphire-blue heavens over silver-white sand

Ruby-red rose and emerald green hill

The echo of love when the hour is still

For true wealth is found in a moment’s essence

Its treasure is free to both pauper and prince

© Janet Martin