
Could not the Odyssey spare me a Nightingale
Thereby offering me promising hope of warmth
Invite me to picture a rural sylvan of green tops
Colorful butterflies in flight and light hair girls
Chasing after without real intent to surrender
Oh, I could almost hear their echoing laughter
As I lay alone, reading somewhat sprawled out
Upon an inviting blanket where I offer them rest
Then, we would chat about the flowers and moon
And of course, love and lazy afternoons- all alone
Sisters or friends endeavoring to become women
And I- merely but lad desiring to become a man
Would only too happily feel obliged to them both
After all, what then is nature for if not to…bloom
.
Poet of the Light © 2023
Photo by Maksim Goncharenok on Pexels.com