The morning is teeth-clenching cold
Crisp, dry air and sky so blue it hurts my eyes
The bruised purple sky I found starting off up the mountain
Turned to pink and then this cyan blue.
Rabbitbrush and sage block my way
and so I turn, follow a dry creek bed
and surprise a covey of quail
And of courses the roses
This one carries with it
memories of something lavender
A color, or a scent perhaps
frankincense and myrrh
And there is gold here all around
A cavalcade of colors
reds, and yellows, and browns
and he made him a coat of many colors
No comments:
Post a Comment
Comment moderation request has been emailed to the blog author.