Look to the hills, where the air is fresh with the odour of blooming daffodils. "Hello?" The sun, so warm in the sky, blazing down upon hills, fresh with daises. "Pleasure to me you." Roll in the grass, cartwheel down the hills. "I can't believe we met." So much green, so many hills, the air so fresh, the smell of summer, sweet. "This has to be a dream?" Not a cloud in the sky, blue, so far and wide. "It's not." Bloom, everywhere, blossom, day. "I'm so happy we met." Daisy chains, yellow-white daffodil cups, grass stains. "Me too." No rush, whole day.
About the Creator
James Green
Weaving words into captivating worlds, this author's storytelling will transport you to realms of imagination and leave you breathless.
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SLOW SNAIL
Too big to fail, moving slowly as a snail, looking everywhere for places to win instead of fail. Steady pace wins the race, snail slow move looks for a faster pace. Chiselled cheeks, moving faster, wing span, space, so high can't fail for fear of loss to the face. New movement now, no new race, just a pleasant jog, win, fail, chase? Chase win, fail? Choices of the will. Pleasant surroundings for a smile to fill, sit, listen, feel, words become rhythm when the mind is still. What's right? To fail is to win, as long as you're left with a pleasant grin and less chagrin.
By James Green4 years ago in Poets
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