dragon fly 21


There was a boy at the pond,

Sitting quietly, lost in thought.

There was a sun ray at the pond,

Anchored to the water.

There was a cloud over the pond,

Engraving her ethereal self on

The still, innate well.

There was a dragon fly at the pond,

Catching rainbows with her wings.

There were rushes around the pond

Singing silences to the heart.

There was a sleeping puppy

At the pond, wrapped by

Flowers and grass.

There were pebbles by the pond,

Painted by dew and dust.

There was a curled leave on the pond,

Sailing softly into the eternity

Of the round cosmos that was now its home.

There was a perfume on the pond,

Lingering with essence of water and morning

And wild flowers and croaking frogs.

There was a beauty at the pond,

Made of child and wind and leave and dog,

And Art Nouveau dragon flies, and murmuring

Rushes and specks of light, and dancing flowers

With skirts of grass, and totem rocks,

And ethereal, cloudy mantles from above.

And I saw God.


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