MUST BE 18 OR OLDER - MUST READ TERMS OF SERVICE AND PRIVACY POLICY

Missing or lost mail? Please read.

Markes Rodgers #Y28401
9/28/2022

The Meadow

High atop the ridge
Next to the hayfield
Where the tin barn
Sits…is a meadow
Filled with golden poppies
And white shasta daisies.

Four red tail hawks
Soar the empty sky,
Chainsaws echo the canyon
And a distant town’s
Noon whistle is heard
Blown before its time.

These are the sights
And sounds of youth,
Memories embedded long ago
In an older man
Now a cosmic loop
Of past and present.

A place where dreams
Come alive and dance
Across the high tops
Of the ageless redwoods
Bending in the wind.

 

 

 

See all poetry for Markes Rodgers #Y28401