Poetry and Landscape

In the heart’s meadow where shadows speak
And nature’s own geese, silver and sleek,
Some haunting hues godless imperious.
Through summers of never ending bliss.

They are soft pastures that never grow old
Their grasses touch dreams despite the cold.
What visions dance while the sun hangs low
And its rays of golden embers softly glow?

You shall find me beneath every tree
Where the whispers of sorrow still ache for glee.
What once was lost can become once more,
The quiet events shall bring me ashore.

• Edward Thomas