[Image from Pinterest]
Just this. Strolling, one being, through the grass –
so tall, she felt a child; infant of Earth.
A brush, a touch, seeds into palm: no dearth
of life here, in meadow so lush. A last
paradise of promise; wild pre-Man. Past
behaviour, historic wounds unseen: birth
secret, conceived without aid. With a mirth
come from hush, Nature has thrived – verdant blast
just outside the city bounds. So alive,
she felt a belonging, becoming part
of a realm not her own. Creature of lies,
intruder foreign to this land where fly
birds, from finch to birds of prey. Was her heart
that sang a prayer to stay. Right here. Just this.
[Copyright © N R Nolan 2016]