Epic

The fog lifted
To clear blue sky
A sea of choices
Floating by

The scent of ferns
On a gentle breeze
Conveying a message
Of peace and ease

Water trickling
Through moss covered rocks
Graciously allowing
The soul to detox

Words don’t die of cold
they die from a lack of courage
Words often perish
because of humid weather

I once met
a word
that was like a bright red bird