Bottomless Possibility

Wisp of feathered cloud-frond, a quill
For blue sky full of ink

I wonder what words wait to spill

What heaven-poets think

Will it paint scenes of paradise

Blue-bonnet dappled field

Or gorgeous out-pouring of skies

As night’s black borders yield

Or will it run our fingers through

A labyrinth of stars

To wonder at the avenue

Of Jupiter and Mars

Perhaps a sweet and tender hymn

Of joyful gratitude

As May-minstrels soft strum the limb

With springs green-song renewed

Or will it tease the sense of smell

With blossom-heady lane

Or pungent lure of fresh-turned fell

And earth, after the rain

 

© Janet Martin