Le Sortilège

Times will be bad,

Days will be dark,

All could seem lost,

All could seem gone.

 

But things never stay

The way they are:

Change is imminent,

Change is divine.

 

At such times

When my chest is heavy

With unwanted weights

Heaving it down.

 

I look not

Within myself

But out

Into the mystic world.

 

The balmy days

Of early summer

Bring forth

A plethora of novelty.

 

The hazy rays of the

Setting sun

Filtered through the canopy

Warm my face.

 

The mellow breeze

Carries along

The sound of the sea

And the smell of blooms.

 

The pollen grains

Of little flowers

Tickle my nose

As I bend to smell.

 

The gentle touch

Of butterflies

That land on me

Hidden among the bushes.

 

The soft rustle

Of the fresh leaves

Swaying with the wind

Fills my ear.

 

I feel

The soft earth-

The maroon soil

Pad my tired feet.

 

Sometimes

I hear

A lone sparrow

Searching for its mate.

 

Sometimes I watch

The silent squirrels

Jump from branch to branch,

Or chase around the trees.

 

I skip about,

Across boulders

Smoothened

By the noisy brook.

 

I dance

In the fields

Of ripe yellow

Sunbathing sunflowers.

 

I sit on boughs

Savoring fruits

And watch

The jungle life.

 

Then I return,

Bathed in grime,

Pollen and seeds,

Petals and leaves.

 

Bathed in peace

With a lighter heart

On lighter feet

Due le Sortilège.