Glory

glory be to the man
who sits under the shade
of an ancient tree,
who drinks in the freshness
of a sun-kissed breeze,
and the fullness
of sprightly flowers on leaves,
and who for a moment
looks to the primordial ground,
to hold a fistful of dark earth
in his heart,
with a silence profound.

In the Eyes of the Beholder

I stand
on the edge,
with the wind
on my face -
blue waters, 
painted storks,
green patches,
and pelicans' squawks;
a pretty picture
comes alive
in the eyes
of the beholder,
while they carry on,
and sing their song,
unfazed, untouched,
basking in the glory
of the glowing sun.