This Wonderland

 

From bastions of burdened skies

The painter spills white butterflies

Like sequined lace they softly cling

To every ordinary thing

And suddenly the dull and plain

Is full of majesty again

The hill becomes a rolling sea

Of whitecaps gilding golden lea

And where the wild flowers would blow

Now blooms a field of fallen snow

As we of wanderlust demand

An hour extra from time’s hand

This wonderland startles the eye

We tip our chins to kiss the sky

Heaven and earth are heart to heart

Its pulse of God spills in star-art

Soft, soft upon the countryside

Nature is like a beaming bride

© Janet Martin