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