Meadowlands

MEADOWLANDS

tall grass, stretching
as far as my eyes can see,
calls to my tired,
ragged body;
each blade
beckons me to rest
in its arms

I settle into the depths
of the rolling meadow,
warm breezes
whisper through the air;
I straighten out
and my eyes dance
over the clouds above me

lost in thought,
yet thinking of nothing,
I hear only the faint sound
of a rusted-out windmill
reminiscing of its days
of usefulness, long gone;
my eyes glaze, as hypnotized

the sun’s warm rays
lengthen, bridging day
into night, dragging the moon
from its resting place;
I sigh contentedly, nodding
off into sweet surrender
as the stars stand watch

2011-10-23
P. Wanken

Dedicated to a friend in need of rest.

Written for The Sunday Whirl prompt, to use these words in a poem: rusted-out, nods, beginning, stretched, clouds, drag, blade, ragged, rolling, glaze, straighten, and bridges.