When I fly to those faraway, mysterious places,
to lands foreign to me,
with a speech I cannot hear,
what can I say to you
without a voice,
that you will understand .. ..
will you see me smile,
when I look into your face . . .
will you hear me cry?
When I am there
what do I wish to see .. .. ..
Do gardens plant
spiders in the air
as they do here?
are streams of water
invaded by chimes
which sing and tinkle
so brightly
like the sun shards
tumbling over and over
and tangling in your hair,
or bouncing on your shoulder.. .. ..
How does the sun hit
over there?
Do birds have arms to stretch
up and beyond your sight,
yet give a music that like the
rainbow comes and goes
where ever there is magic . . ..
How do the birds fly
over there?
Are there flowers . .. .
little people in colorful faces
like precious gems
which entice the fairies,
in shapes of bumblebees and
things with wings,
that let a breeze guide their way
over your heart
as they search for the nectar
in all the living central places .. .. ..
Are there flowers on your
pathways over there?
Do trees bend down to offer fruit
at hand
or lift a child up
into the air
to soar above the heads
of walking folk.. .. ..
Do they do that over there?
Is there green so powerful
it aches the eyes of the living,
and whosoever walks upon that carpet so smooth
and soft, does it ground them
to this planet?
Do you find that there?
Just like here?
and airs so clear
and temperatures
so warm and mellow
that they run like silken honey
down the cobbled streets.. .. ..?
do we need hip-boots to wade through
in our delight?
What is the atmosphere like
over there?
Like here?
Do stars grow like diamonds in velvet nights .. .. ..
and orbs of silver glow from high
giving an ambiance and a song.. .. ..
do we walk beneath such beauty
painted on a canopy
of awe
is that something I will see
in this faraway land . . .?
What do I want to see
when I am there ?
your face, your smile,
your kind embrace . .
will be enough .. .. ..
The rest is but a memory of time and space,
but you are the treasure
I long to see. . .
and will hold most dear.
M^^W
I neglected to mention that this poem is dedicated to all the friends I will meet, old and new, in France.
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3 comments:
No more, no less, like in any other place in the world. And love, when faithfully expressed, makes your heart beat a little faster, or ease your mind, like in any other place in the world.
And like in any other place in the world, a smile is the best gift you can give to anyone, maybe it will not be returned, but at least, you will be happy to have given it.
Thus, your mind will be in peace.
PMC
We are waiting for you.
I guess, we all who'll meet you are full of ever increasing anticipation. We will hold you most dear, too...
Frank
Thank you PMC . . . I will always smile at you! And thank you Frank, I am so excited about getting to see my friends in France .. .I will see your dear faces . . . soon!
-Barbara
YAY
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