At Home With Humdrum

If much of our life's laid to humdrum world, To waste are rendered when simplest of joys, What matters not be when nature's rare poise, Innocent, pure pleasures pass by unfurled— Beauty of dawns, dusks, daises decked in dew, Hills and dales crying for our company, A gentle cool breeze not getting her due, Goes unheralded when birds' symphony, Sea baring breasts to embrace silver moon, The raw passion of a rising river, Clouds playing with stars, joy to deliver, Seasons when change, sun at cool wintry noon. Yet man, at home with humdrum, life's leisures, Blind tends to be to nature's pure pleasures. __________________________________________________ Sonnets | 05.04.04 |