“A poem is the very image of life expressed in its eternal truth.”
Percy Bysshe Shelley

Monday, September 24, 2012

Grace in Flight


I look up and glimpse
a white crested egret soar,
arcing above me.

I want to reach up
yearning toward grace in flight,
ultimate freedom.

A feather drifts down.
Swiftly I reach to catch it
in its slow descent.

4 comments:

Muffie said...

How I would love to soar like the birds. No feet necessary -- just wings. Then again, perhaps I'd be too much like Icarus!
Peace,
Muff

Karen said...

A beautiful poem Judy. I was just watching a blue heron fly over the shore.

Robert Parker said...

Lovely! Lovely! Lovely in the finest tradition of haiku.

A pool of water
Contains the moon.

Judy at Peace Be With You said...

Muff, Karen, and Robert,

It is writing poems like this one that is keeping going. Thanks for stopping by. It means a great deal to me.