Her graceful ivory lines
Set in a crimson bower
Trimmed with green and yellow lace
Putting on her autumn face
Shine in a sunlit hour;
A little woodland bridge,
The finale of a dream
As water rushes past below
And voyeuristic breezes blow
Reflected in a stream
Give me a place to walk
Recalling passing years
And changes that have bridged each one,
The many races lost and won,
A bridge of hopes and fears.
© 2011 Pam H. Murray
Today the trees were whispering.
It was the early hours and Spring
Had cloaked the earth in pastel light.
I watched wind dancing, birds in flight
And lazy tugs head from the shore.
It was a day worth waking for.
I sat down with my cup of tea
And felt it washing over me
As stress receded like the dawn.
Now with the morning moving on
I let my spirit drift away
To where sunbeams on water play.
© 2012 Pam H. Murray
Outlined against the waterfall
He stood as if a part of all
The thunder of its rushing sound,
A part of life and nature bound.
In deep communion with the day,
I watched the subtle colours play
With hair and eyes that seemed too deep
And full of secrets meant to keep.
His chiselled face, without a flaw
Was full of strength, inspiring awe
And with the mystic water song
His spirit stood so proud and strong.
© 2012 Pam H. Murray
As the rain falls quietly down
And I see the path ahead
I think of what I should have done.
Life intervened instead.
Now trees are softly moving
Beneath the weeping skies
As Spring reweaves her tapestry
To the rhythm of their sighs.
They’re whispering a credo
Built upon the year’s rebirth
And I am feeling young once more
As a part of sky and earth.
© 2012 Pam H. Murray
Cold air rushing overhead
Pulls me from my sleep
Sheltered by the willow tree.
Leaves begin to weep
Trembling in the thunder
Of a summer storm.
All day long, above my head
I watched the black clouds form
And felt them stir my spirit
Knowing there would be
A wild display of nature’s might
And electricity.
© 2012 Pam H. Murray
Aug. 9, 2012
Footprints on the riverbank
Show where I have been
Merging into earthy shades
Of the quiet scene.
Birds are growing restless
In the summer heat
Unaware that far below
A moth’s wings softly beat
And driftwood forms a danger
To boats passing by.
In these quiet moments
Time’s too tired to fly.
© 2012 Pam H. Murray
