Immaculately Pure

Visions are painted
By the writer’s pen
Immaculately pure
Or, soiled by sin

A rock, a tree
A tired torn man
The work worn mother
Rushes home again

And venturesome children
So eager to be
Or, windblown ships
On a turbulent sea

The fretful infant
Cooing a word
And voiceless speech
Outwardly heard

And what of daylight
Or mountains that tumble
And moonlit skies
Or clouds that rumble

Whether of anger
Or dreamers of dreams
The pen we trust
It creates the scenes

Look there…a valley
With sweet green grass
A surging river
Flowing too fast

Oh look, a raindrop
With honey inside
And there… a memory
Attempting to hide

The wingless birds
Beauties in flight
Dragons draw dewdrops
A wonderful sight
Copyright © 2008 Delbert H. Rhodes

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