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Untitled MAG
This calm I breathe,
the black emerald-breasted birds
twittering asecret to each other,
flirt with my ear,
The hairy grass
dances, to andfro,
meddling in everyone's business but its own,
and I breathe,
maybethe breaths
of ancient Druids
or of Rumi, mad in his whirl,
or ofmyself, two thousand years ago.
The breeze churns faster,
rummagingthrough
dirt and divine,
scattering scarlet beads
of light,
and thisI breathe,
contemplating whether I've swallowed a nibble of peace.
© Anonymous
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