A tilled and freshly sown field,
A scarecrow sadly hanging his head,
When suddenly he grows big-bellied with a breeze,
Secretly winking at the crows
To set them all aflutter
And grant a chance to every little seed.
© jsmorgane
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Category: poems
I see your face singing
I see your face
And hear it sing
A song as way of life.
I watch you sing
And with my fingers
Trace your features.
I hear your face
And place each note
Into a pool of wisdom.
For in your face
I see a deeper music,
And deep in every song
I hear your face.
© jsmorgane (July 2010)
The Dry Well
During the searing heat of day
A cheerful brook had told me many things,
For which to seek I left
The shelter of the cool and silent house.
Beyond, I found a bridge
Fallen into disrepair.
A sorry sight, this state of sure neglect.
So without hesitation
I crossed the bridge with steady step,
Returning to it some of its former dignity.
On the other side an orchard lay,
With apple trees, and further still
Uncounted waves of fields rolled
Far into the distance.
Bending under burdened trees,
I found my way, dappled with light,
To the very heart of the blooming garden
And there I saw a well, run dry:
A sigh of sleeping air,
When I tried the pump.
I took the cracked crock,
Half-hidden in the grass,
And in the dimming light
I ran for water from the brook.
Spilling most along my hopeful path,
I poured what little water there was left
Into the dry well’s thirsting trough.
But from the mouth no water came.
Instead, a many dozen fireflies
Flew from the dry well’s spout,
And danced around my head
Like a crown of living fire.
© jsmorgane (July 2010)