Another Language

Form: Pentastich

In lives gone by, I spoke their language,
The ancient words of Mother Earth
Without the aid of a mobile phone.
I could touch the breeze in harmony
And understand the chorus of dawn birds.
I tasted sweet ambrosia,
The honeyed nectar of the gods.
I danced in the wooded pantheon
To the beat of single drum
While listening to the moon.
Yet now I have forgotten
The ways of age old mystery,
I have lost the joy of creation.
Yet an echo thunders in my soul
Drawing me to the forest trees.

©JGFarmer2009

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