Sara's Poetry
Delicious Tomorrows
Looking out the window with the
partial view I have, the breeze gently
stirring the curtain
with the ribbon and flowers pattern;
I see beyond the
distant hill a sky of misty
gray. I hear the clear
whistle of the near
Bob White Quail,
As across my yard he makes his trail.
He hops upon the bale of hay, as if put there
just for him. Then, seemingly with no care
or fear of danger he lifts his stripped face
to the misting rain. Beauty and grace
are marked in streaks across his puffed breast.
No sweeter whistle ever heard is cast
loud and clear through the still and early morning hour;
issuing a beauty in the face of the unopened flower.
Cool the wind is this
June morning, as the gentle wetness
drifts from the Kansas sky. Turning
the grass greener and giving
a sip of life to the thirsty plants - reviving.
No noise of automobile, no hurrying
footsteps of human beings rushing.
No roar of travel in the air,
no yelling voices ‑ human fair;
Lost in the phenomenon of this world.
Caught up in the splendor to unfurl
Nature hard-at-work and I, the observer, do
marvel that I am chosen and honored, too,
that I can watch and listen to this
burst of activity even in the stillness.
From the window I turn away, and feel
the dampness seeping through to my bones, so real
I shiver from the coolness. Warming up
my cold cup of coffee, seeing the steam rise up.
I long to snuggle under the softness of my bed.
Visions of comfort in bygone years flood my head
as I daydream of sweet
yesterday memories, so nice and neat
forever fresh within my heart.
Just as nature, I, too, do my part
searching forever and holding in my heart
within my soul of souls, never without sorrows;
yet, with anticipation to delicious tomorrows.
Sara Gardner Blow ©1992
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