Take it easy my son,
the old man said,
there’s no need to rush,
get it into your head.
Was it the hare or the tortoise
who won the race?
he asked with a chuckle,
a wry smile on his face.
Your troubles and worries,
they’re all in your mind.
sit back and stop thinking,
take some time to unwind.
He stretched out his arms,
then the same with his legs,
and placed his old hands
behind his old head.
Love is a game,
he said grinning,
learn how to play and
forget about winning.
About the Creator
Donald Quixote
Hopeless romantic,
adventurer in paradox;
so it goes
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Wild Waves of Gold
Trembling wheat in the sun-baked winds look like wild waves of gold, skillfully swaying in the glittering day—the fields are an endless and open invitation that calls the free wanderers, the dreamers, and anyone needing a change of pace into its splendor, into its sense of comfortability, into a world separate from the concrete and gray—we may tremble with it—with the wheat spun from the blazing sun, with the carefree visions that may be out of reach for many, including ourselves. The rat race dies here and the unwavering winds bury it in soil while we dance as free as the wheat does.
By Andi Leigh5 days ago in Poets
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