In Time's Meadow
There is a beatitude
In the timeless vale.
Where rhymes chime
And colours converse.
I walk there seldom.
Alone and not.
With canvass and quill.
The collective solitude.
And dialogue.
With perfect abandon.
Where even a glance
Utters its meaning.
There is a lot to be said
For not having to say.
A lot to rue,
Once it is said.
There is a beatitude
In the timeless vale.
Where rhymes chime
And colours converse.
I walk there seldom.
Alone and not.
With canvass and quill.
The collective solitude.
And dialogue.
With perfect abandon.
Where even a glance
Utters its meaning.
There is a lot to be said
For not having to say.
A lot to rue,
Once it is said.
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