Fire-tips of trees
Below the moon,
across the fire tips
of sunset
l saw the flames
of evening trees,
beyond the colors
of spring,
were blue,
coppers and golds,
they merged and rippled,
beneath the gilded dance
of bees,
for they weaved
the last glow
of sunlight,
in a myriad of clouds
and the busy hum
of their thousand voices,
I stood and watched them, hearing wonders
and turned back
upon my imagined choices,
for there was just one
to take, the forest path,
or the one that lay
by the beckoning sea,
I took neither
and followed the sound of creation
and left myself
to find the wings
of me.
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p1964km@googlemail.com
