Sunday, February 07, 2010

Whifle, Wimple, Tadpoles

Blow you mighty gusting wind.
Blow and cease. Blow and cease.
Make me wonder who created you
In geometric form.
Cutting forth to whifle this,
Whifle that, and are no more.
Rippling at waters edge
You cast your breasts upon the shore
A simple wimple foraging
Here to there for who knows what.
Ride the crest to lands downstream
To come to rest in fields afar.
You were just a tiny speck when
First you came. Little dot that grew a tail,
Began to slither ‘cross the pond.
Nosy tadpole swimming, skimming,
Growing to a mighty leaper,
Leaping high into the wind.
Landing on some distant shore.
A whifle now. A wimple then.



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4 comments:

Shelia Goss said...

This poem is just a reminder of God's goodness.

Robert said...

You paint a wonderful picture with simple words.

writinflower01 said...

very evocative

Maxine Thompson said...

I love this poem for the magnificent use of language. You draw word pictures and images, which reminds us of God's bounty and creation.