I used to write poetry...
Somehow,
driving on a country road in late afternoon
the fields of fall half harvested
trees not yet ready to turn
green and gold create a sharp contrast
in the crystal clear light
of sun woven through inky clouds
the right song plays on the radio
and a whole moment hangs
suspended in the air
a perfect golden chord
driving on a country road in late afternoon
the fields of fall half harvested
trees not yet ready to turn
green and gold create a sharp contrast
in the crystal clear light
of sun woven through inky clouds
the right song plays on the radio
and a whole moment hangs
suspended in the air
a perfect golden chord