My first poem about a country stile!

I shut my eyes, and lingered a while,
Detached from bodily form
To dwell upon the words that formed
A poem about a country stile.

The grain was gnarled and knot protruding,
Weathered old and standing proud
Like a lonely aged war torn soldier
A history witnessed and life concluding.

The brush swept land of gold and green
The emerald grass and hill of grain.
Across the land and ghostly page
This virgin tale of where I’d been.

Each step toward this friend of mine
The view his gift to me
Was painted on a page in words
And with the page did intertwine.

With opened eyes, I stopped a while,
And wished to see my country stile.
I wish for the gift of sight for me,
But darkness is all I see.

This is my first fictitious poem about a fictitious scene turned into a first fictitious poem by a fictitious blind man! I joke, but my sentiment is heartfelt and I do believe it is very sad that someone who is blind cannot see the beautiful sights I have seen in the countryside around us today. Poem written as the result of a prompt about ‘first times’ by dverse pots pub.

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