A Far Cry From Home
Contributed by
penguindave
on
Tuesday, 16th May 2006 @ 11:14:45 AM in AEST
Topic:
NaturePoetry
|
A far cry from the place I know,
Neither cars, nor people roam,
No factories, no suburban streets,
Like the place that I call home.
Here I stand in nature's hands,
High upon a hill,
Here I'm free, so debonair,
Where time is mine to kill.
Rolling hills reach heady heights,
Then vanish in the yonder,
Gazing out on misty morn,
My mind begins to wander.
Far below a sleepy lake,
That mirrors snow-capped crest,
Sat upon the waters still,
A swan has come to rest.
Beside the lake, a wooden lodge,
So lonesome in the pine,
Harboured by, a rowing boat,
Lays rusted over time.
Here I stand, Its solitude,
Just me, myself and I,
The day is calm all is well,
But home plays on my mind.
Copyright ©
penguindave
... [
2006-05-16 11:14:45] (Date/Time posted on
site)
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