At Peace With This Piece
It was a good morning for mourning,
Riding through the maze of maize.
Doomed forever sore when I saw her spirit soar,
I'd been spending my days in a daze.
But today the dew was due, the mist not missed,
And the cows graze beneath a sky of whites and greys.
I wondered whether the weather blew the blue away,
And whirled it around the world.
Over the hill was just more of the moor,
So on I rode down the road, to where they sow,
rows and rows of that special rose.
Their scent sent shivers that mined my mind.
But now what do I hear here?
What have I seen in this scene?
They're there with their tools of trade,
Making flour from that flower,
The special roses spayed by spade.
By J. Barrett
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