Lying in a green and golden haze,
Sandwiched by lazy summer days,
Cushioned and cocooned in time,
The cotton padded walls of sublime,
History: Behind
And future lines,
Neither has a place in this spot,
Just here,
They can come,
So far,
Only so near,
But no further. No
They cannot encroach,
On this perfect moment. So
Just so; This warmth on my skin
This stubble on my chin
This breeze across my face
This cloud of grace
This meadow. Look!
This gargling chocolate, babbling brook,
This life about within,
This horses hoof,
This fishes skin,
This song of songs of summer lark,
This moment knows nothing of the dark,
And it exists,
All by itself,
It is all I want of wealth,
It is peace and life and health,
It is on the sheer cliff face of time..
A shelf.
M Joseph Burt (28-05-2007)
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