poetry by j matthew waters

call of the wildflowers

where wildflowers bloom warm winds blow
turning rolling fields into motion pictures
on the brightest and fairest of days

round stones sink into dampened soil
concealed by grasses and barely breathing
undiscoverable come summer or fall

footprints aplenty but none of them human
the unreachable never dies
whether here or furthest place imaginable

may two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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