Oh, to have the time to wander the pastures and meadows of poetry; of times long gone. To bask in the warm glow of their splendour.
To breathe the air of joy. To walk with the wisdom of bards. To be where birds soar high and dreams take flight, to the world of freedom and artful expression. The gift of vision in lands of splendour, the golden sun shines down its ancient wisdom. Illuminating the wisdom upon such minds as the great men in whose steps we follow. Never to repeat or attain the dreams once held in the dying sunlight of the days long gone.
Gathering the golden harvest we can rejoice in heavenly dreams on a late summers eve, after a days work is done. With straw for a pillow to dream of a magical land where wisdom is found in a breath of wind. A slight breeze and a golden blessing is ours for the toil if only we make time to wander the pastures.
Return to the land that gave us our sight and ability to think; to take a chance to follow our dreams and live with wisdom of spirit and grace in our hearts. I now bow my head and shed a tear for dreams that I lost.
Alex Fulford ©️September 2022.
