FacebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmailFacebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmailby feather

How the morning dew sparkles
the field like tears of men
The lone tree rights and
shakes in a flowing breeze

There it stands in the shadows
creased and bent
without a hint of time
reminding the youth of this age
that some things were born before

a mystery that unfolds
page by page
like the taste of really fine wine
it unravels your senses
and leaves you blind