The morning held a Royal Mist
that crowned the glowing green rice fields
They were fertilised
They were ploughed
They were flooded and planted and now they grow tall and strong from the earth
Green kissed country side where flowing water feeds the ever eager forest to encroach upon us
Only constant work and vigil can make the forest bend to our will
But it does not break! For it to claim this land would take only a small twist of fate and we would be gone
The earth would forget that we walked upon and tilled within and sweated and bled
Royal Mist will cover the eyes of history as time ploughs onward to its ever reaching infinity
Yet tis fair to struggle on for we must grow to see what is in store for we
Like the rice in the field, we can grow green, a healthy color, like the freshness of spring. This freshness if we can but bring
All else would come to the green one
When you start at the bottom there is no where to go but up
If you stay at the bottom, then everything looks giant and can fill you with wonder
Like parent of a child or an older brother
Perhaps tis better a clear day than a morn of Royal Mist but I wonder what is missed!
Clarity lets us see far, tis true, but mist makes us look at what if right in front of you
Both perspectives have their value
I see only preference, how about you?
I love poetry.