Of fable’s told and fairy-tales so bold, knowledge accumulated like a calculator of infinite sums, behold.
Of rocks and boulders so hard and cold.
Of daffodils and strawberry hills.
My cup runneth over from sunshine till moonlit scenarios, of doves or bat filled sky serenades.
Like a stone thrown through the sky, punched out holes like a cut out parchment in the sky.
Projected images, paste up, put up above the strawberry hills and daffodils, patchwork that occupies my mind.
A rock, a bolder, a stone not rolling.
A world of accumulated knowledge.
Experience, the teacher.
If only I could become spring, start a new in fresh rains rendezvous.
Canyons, and crevices, of sunlit strawberry hills.
rodneyartist 