buttercup

“of growing wings”

ebbtide

knowing you already have
the company of stones,
and wanting a remembrance
less weighty,
I brought to you
the single beam
of a wild buttercup
plucked from among
its golden brothers,
drifting even now
unfettered in the field

where nearby children
may be heard shrieking
in play with each other
and with the barking dog
under the watchful eyes
of a woman content
that they will be tired
after this brilliant-skied
afternoon frolic

and even nearer,
the cedar the artists
come to paint holds
the newest fledglings close
until early one morning
and quite unexpectedly,
it will dawn on them
that they are the sky-born
and their falling
will become instead
their glorious flying

and down the street,
the runners run
past the park where
I imagine you stopped
to watch the swallows
plummet at dusk,
enthralled by just what
hollow bones can do –
and wandered back home
to…

View original post 9 more words

About Ben Naga

The Spirit that graces me with its passing has no name and stems not from thoughts and words, though it gathers them up as it flows, but from feeling.

Posted on October 26, 2019, in Poem - Not Written By Me Though, Reposted from elsewhere. Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

  1. Many thanks for the re-post, Ben! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    • I was coming and going a lot in the Summer and overlooked a few posts, including this one. Therefore very happy to lend it a new lease of life and bring it before the eyes of some fresh readers. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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