I composed it while standing in my front yard, waiting for the school bus to bring my daughter home. It’s a little pastoral and Robert Frost-ish, I suppose, and the kind of thing a good mood on a lovely day might produce. Not that mine has the kind of depth Frost achieved; this one is nicely descriptive, I think, and it has a little dram of zen in it, but that’s about it. That’s OK, though. I’m still feeling my way through this whole poetry thing.
A quick look at my poetic attempts reveals that most stem from good moods. It seems I wax poetic most often when I want to celebrate something, or at least when I’m not actively griping about something. Many of my poems are sparks caught from something I saw from our rural yard; a few try to glimpse at something more spiritual and cosmic. All of them, I suppose, are attempts to share … something.