To the Sky
The wind is in the trees
Tickling the fresh leaves
Until they giggle and laugh.
Sunday basks under the Spring sun,
And here is a poem I write just for you.
On the low breeze is a butterfly
Fluttering among the flowering
Rose mallows young in the spring.
Roanoke bells, amidst the tall mallows,
Stir lightly under the warming dawn
Climbing out from the southern forest.
A creek is seemingly without thought,
And the forest, gowned in Spring's
To the sky calm in blue,
This, I write just for you.