The Ancient LanguageA Poem by Cherrie
The placid surface smooth and grey,
reflects the soul come end of day. Muted light that did not break slowly fades for time is late. The blazing maple mirrored by glass reflects a ripple from the water's edge. The distorted image of ridge and pines, make room for an osprey climbing high. The walking wind, breaks from the trees, and stirs the water for all to see. The ancient language of trees and wind, sing of forever, and Winter's long since. The hum of life, God's command to live, is heard by all, except maybe modern man. © 2021 CherrieReviews
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8 Reviews Added on November 24, 2021 Last Updated on December 20, 2021 |

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