In The Clearing
where once the festivals were held
and the dances and parades were attended
by those in colorful robes
with smiles and carefree gestures
showing they held their world in respect
and shared that with others...
now there are only some faint traces
of the pathways once used
and now nearly gone and grown over
by the grasses bending in the breezes...
and over in the clearing
you can still see with your imagination
the colors of the robes of those celebrating
even though what is there are but wildflowers...
Comments on this poem/writing:
|Dennis R. (22.214.171.124) -- Friday, April 11 2008, 03:01 pm|
I enjoyed the poem. We call it the progress of man, but changes often bring along pressures and erase the peace of a simpler life. Dreaming can enliven that moment again.
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