On a summery, windy day,

Perhaps, it is the blooms of the morning glory,

Waking the morn,

Or, the brisk breeziness of the cold wind, that caresses,

Invigorating as it refreshes,

Not the morn, or the day that follows,

Nor the evening, or the night after,

I know not what captures the heart more,

Perhaps, we see not beauty the way it should be seen,

laid bare for all.

I wasn’t sure what to write today, and came up with this poem. Somedays, are just meant for rambling I guess:)

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