The Bower, a Poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Here in the bower I quietly lay
Focusing on the color of the sky
Just passing away the hours of this day

Its cerulean blue I wonder why
Could it not one of the soft shades of green
Someday with a brush of green I will try

My thinking may be considered obscene
This foolishness is needed respite care
As stress untempered would soon make me mean

Breathing deeply capturing the mild air
Feeling joy of the sun upon my face
A great sense of freedom I am aware

Today there will be no arduous pace
No want to run a competitive race
O the reward of stillness in this place