There will be time.
To sit on the purple wooden chairs.
The warm July sun shining on my face.
Listening to the swallow chirp.
Her song echoing through.
The emerald countryside.
On a sultry summer Sunday.
To lie in freshly cut grass.
Sitting in the fields.
Watching a butterfly float by.
There will be time.
To sit on the river bank.
The clear water sparkles.
Like crafted cut crystal.
The sky shimmers.
I listen to the wind speaking in soft tones.
There will be time.
To make daisy chains.
To smell the whitethorn,
and meander through byways.
While the sun descends.
Watching day give way.
To the tranquillity of nightfall.
………….
I am a Poetic Writer from Bailieborough Co. Cavan