The pages flutter in my head, the words seeking out a line unsaid,
Walking in fields of green, I let that poem write in my head.
The blooms all bow in golden rows, the breeze spreading their fragrance
Each petal a whisper, each breeze a forgotten name.
Skies of blue, clouds of white paint dreams in tender light,
Time lingers, writing verses that wake what once was bright
A book pressed close against my side, its cover worn and true,
Its pages hold the tears I’ve cried, and those hopes I still feel,
I speak no words, yet still they come, they echoes times from the past.
I speak not loud, yet the silence replies, echoes of laughter with tears in disguise,
The poem writes me gently, line after line its pages and words anew.
In fields of green memories take shape,
my heart entwined a new poem in my mind,
It has no title, yet I feel its words I felt them many times,
Chasing questions through time and space.
A Verse By Peter A Moscovita
Books By Peter .LLC
All Rights and Copyright © Peter A. Moscovita
