
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
I have the same sense of peace and freedom reading your lively poem.
Have yet to paint the sky green but will continue to go to the bower