Poetry

Youth

Who longs in the bleak of autumn to sail off
with the wildfowls in her airy dreams, or
lay down her head with the marsh still
clinging to her hair.

Who sings in stormy winds, and dances,
and runs through the fields that are
mazes, to translucent streams
overflowing.

3 thoughts on “Youth”

  1. Genevieve says:

    I love this imagery, & the femininity that’s captured —

    1. John Forester says:

      That’s quite a compliment, thank you.

  2. Maureen says:

    Beautiful. Thank you

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