Ekphrastic Again By Alyssa Abell
Fluffed up clouds of blue and white block the sky,
they have that swirly, twirly famous look.
The breeze hits you in the face, fresh and cool.
You can smell the country air, the cypress
pine crisp, the sage bushes bring nostalgia.
Wheat, tall yet humble bows to the spring wind,
red flowers, maybe poppy, dance with joy.
Small hills beg for picnics and kite flying,
grassy, bushy knolls with patches of white.
The beauty of this simplistic scene awes.
With movement, feeling so free you could fly,
right into those fluffy, heaven sent dreams.
They'd smell sweet, marshmallows and vanilla.
This is the place in movies where they lie,
finding shapes in the clouds, and counting stars
at night, on warm summer nights with romance.
A place to bring kids and dogs on day trips,
saying I remember the good ol' days.
You pick those red flowers for your sweetie.
The babies then pick one for mommy too,
This is the kind of place that will last out,
over the generations it will stay,
ever untouched, as if preserved by God.
Even after you, the poppies and sage
will stay, the cypress trees brushing the sky.
The fluffy, bursting clouds smile on the field,
and rolling hills, the faces of your youth,
the tell tale spring breeze brings the field to life.
on and on, picnincs and kites will grace this
legendary plane with endless good times.
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