His Poetry In Motion

Gently spinning, twirling …..Silence the golden sound Crisp ashy brown Falling down Golden yellow, amber red Slowly descending to its bed Golden strands of Irish fair Brush gently along my face Cool crisp tingling air Suddenly I become lost in this place Pausing…… slowly inhaling A warmness touches my soul Autumns beauty unveiling Serenity from the Master, taking control His grace finds me here in this creation The wooded area becomes my salvation I am free from all that binds me Cleansing my soul, underneath the mighty oak tree