To The Eyes Of The Newcomer
a green plain
a series of hills
some big mountains
tips reaching the clouds
the sun shines
the wind blows
a leaf falls
the first touch of the hand
on the petal of a white flower
whiteness
and blueness and scents of flowers
and trees
cool, warm,
in solitude
poem by Ric S. Bastasa

Submitted by Poetry Lover
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