May 11, 1991
 
 
 

Clouds ahead,
dark puffs of cotton,
sun's rays, breaking through clouds,
large white masses of illusion,
crowding a deep blue sky.

Sounds from a brook,
peaceful sounds of the motion
of water, shaded by tall trees
in nature's quietude.

Swaying of trees,
as heard in small meadows
of daisies, its fragrance sweetly engulfs
the air of a quiet afternoon.

Windchimes playing
in the late afternoon,
tinkling against an almost
silent, evening dusk,
awakening the spirits of the past.

Saving gazes of beauty,
of cherished memories, of happiness,
the parts of life we wish to remember,
bits and pieces of life
worth knowing.

Saving the visions of beauty,
the fragments are left to tell the story,
as one saves the art of a painter,
as one sings the song of a composer,
as one reads the words of a poet,
as one learns the knowledge of a teacher,
as one sees a glimpse of the beauty of GOD,
it must never be taken for granted.
 
 

© 1991 Carlos Rull