A writer on tour sips his Latte.
Venturing out through patio doors
A sight beholding to the eye
Light fluffy clouds casually drifting along
An azure sky still showing day light
Other writers, their chattering voices easy on the ear
Studiously taking notes.
Nearby cattle grazing
In fields which from his vantage point
Give the appearance of burned toast.
Not being at all green fingered
He can only sit and admire
The beauty of colour adorning flower beds
Whisper a thank you for the gardener
Who knows the difference between flower and weed.
Farther out beyond parched land
The impression of sea dividing land from sky.
Then quietness in that
The far off rumbling overhead of a silver bird in flight
Cars passing close by and bird song
Blend beautifully together
In a symphony of sound.
(c) Chris Black. July 2018
~The Poet’s Poet~