Tiptoeing through bucolic pastures,
wide field of wildflowers spread before me
Welcoming me collectively,
varied species amid tall grasses
All the scented colors of the rainbow
fill my lungs, float upward,
potentially reaching others' senses,
inviting all to partake
I miss being a child again
To embrace in full measure
to run and play,no gates to throw me off balance,
I kiss delicate petals,
hold them softly to my cheek
Their synergy flows outward,
creating preludes in the sky
with kites and eagles fly -
afar to an alternate universe,
perhaps, or return to their former state
I lie down on my back,
eyes follow cirrus clouds,
opening to skies of blue
Wildflowers bend and sigh in the breeze;
earth rotates around the sun,
a dramatic rhapsody
I see no end to the halcyon beauty,
no edges to limit my dreams.
It's the Sunday Whirl. And our beloved Seahawks are playing in the Superbowl in New York and we are all there in spirit. Today's 12 words to be included in a poem are above and underlined as well. Coincidence that we fans are now known as the 12th Man.
