On The Hillside

1/9/06

The following attempt at a poem was composed while reflecting on my surroundings at the horticulture unit:


Wind wafting sweet smell of creek and grass,
Lofty green knoll separates chasm from rocky heights.
Hawk soaring on cool draft shoots upward from unkown:
Breath of some gentle giant.

Silver plates dance on chutes reaching up,
Dynamic sway against stationary hill.
Black and yellow buzz follows currents of gusty trails,
Seeking romance in waves of wind.

What mastermind could conceive the babbling waters
Or rocky heights from which winds whip and turn?
Whose hand formed the heat through the wind
that feeds waving foilage reaching to the skies?