Fall was our heaven
time to be free
run with the horses
as their long manes flow
just as ours
drift behind
without hesitation.
Through the crisp inviting field
there is nothing stoping us
we tred as our life moves
it moves ever so fast
as we run through...
the fall,
with the horses
as our manes drift behind.
Now I gaze at the sepia tone picture
remembering those days
running through the field
without a care in the world
in the fall,
with the horses
as our manes drift behind.
A contest entry
- vintage sunday by adsaige.
300 points, ended June 25, 2008, 17 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What was the honest impression, feeling you had reading this poem?
Comments
-
a very beautiful piece
that speaks to the poet
soul in magnitudes.
i really appreciate you
taking the time to enter.
good luck!
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