Wings Of The Falcon

My wet feet upon the ground walk briskly through the forming, morning mist,
Step by step, one foot than the other - through the dampened, chilled grass,
Ever the writer who in the morning creeps, pen clenched tightly in fumbling fist,
Sleeves rolled up, embracing alluring memories, gathering life's essence - en masse,

But in the light of cold morning with portfolio in hand, where'er are the level, bold blessings,
The communion of souls? There in the corner of my drafty room, nearest the crackling fire,
Among the damp air, at length and in the cool order of all of my segments, written etchings,
Found bound tightly in the hope and glory, and with the memory of all with whom I conspire,

Assembled words and thoughts will grow, rush through me here, for I am swallowed up by the,
Soft wafting of the wings of the falcon.


Thom Carlisle ( Irish Tommy Moran ) - Ireland

===



===

Beautiful, uplifting and oh so lovely Thom.
Miss you my friend

Lovely as always.

Thank ye both, very much.

tommy boy

Cheers Tommy;
Up lifting thoughts.

thank ye, Tazzops.

Wonderfully worded.

nice