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My Secret Place
I sit here quietly looking out from within.
The air is soft, a whisper of wind.
A babbling brook is singing a song.
The gander and his wife, trooping along,
Wandering past my secret place, a place built strong.
A wild turkey stops in his tracks,
It looks at me, only to turn, and walk back,
To be replaced by the hens from the hay,
Who cackle and chatter, in a tongue so gay.
Unaware of the secret place where I lay.
The babbling brook, still singing without end.
It runs straight by and turns right at the bend.
Runs deep into the reeds and out of sight.
As the sun hides behind the mountains might.
And the day turns dark and marries the night.
I am still at rest, looking out from within
Terrance Frank Lazaroff, CD
China 2003
Terrance is
a retired Canadian Armed Forces Logistic Officer who traded his military
uniform for a potter's wheel, when he retired in 1991.
Terry is presently working out of his studio, located in Longueuil, (St-Hubert,) Quebec, Canada. You can find out more about him here.
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