Heart Of The Matter
Before The Storm
I walk across the little park,
That leads me to the village green,
The hills are laid before me,
Never tiring of the scene,
How beautiful they look now,
Mysterious, surreal,
I stand here for a moment,
They somehow don't look real,
Reminds me of a painting,
Some great master has contrived,
In softly muted colours,
His great palette had derived,
The sunlit little houses,
Painted red, and green and white,
Sit just behind the winter trees,
Which also catch the light,
The clouds now cast a shadow,
On the hills that lie below,
And just before the storm breaks,
My picture seems to glow.
Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
Before The Storm
Before The Storm
