thus with a smile and a promise
you take me down the hills from deep woods
into an open meadow,
where graze eighteen cows, their butter-bright sheen,
shining,
luminous on the dew-wet green,
sunlit distilled still,
of all times gone and all times yet to come,
four-dimensional...
and as we pause breathless, you tell me,
listen...listen...
don't you hear, a sound?
*****
2 comments:
A pastoral scene transcending time, with an inkling of a momentous sight.
i am following the threads of a longer poem, Prabhakar, with a mother-lover-guide presence i feel around me nowadays, on some kind of journey i know not the destination of.
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