The scenery is set
In it’s perfect means
The birds chant merrily
To console bruised souls
Their melodious songs
Meant to curb every pain
The benign doves
Ascend and descend
Beneath the bluest sky
This sky retains no anguish
From the tears of the night
The butterflies flap their wings
Over the optimistic flowers
The picturesque expanse
And the striking complexions
Certainly a therapeutic sight
The gentle and soothing breeze
Maims the spreading bodily blight
Catastrophe is now cast away
From this canopy of fondness
Every despair now languish
In the hold of this affection
© Florence Ezekafor
Image by itl.cat
