• the_wayward_mind 9w

    Glancing Backwards

    These grass blades sway
    And 'suade me to stop.
    So I drop on the spot
    To become this mountain top.
    And I rest my head in the shade.

    Then the day begins to fade,
    Still I glimpse
    At the base of the hill
    A thrillful boy and all his will.
    I throw my hopes he makes his way.

    She too, the dove above, does pray.
    Telling all who live below
    To fill the heart with youthful glow
    Before eyes dim to indigo,
    And give no more but fine aged praise.