“Wistful Reverie on an Afternoon”

A breeze whispers through the

Trees.  I think I’d like to

Fly away. Surely tree-top

Conversations are much more

Pleasant than anything to be

Had in a fancy restaurant

Full of towel-armed waiters?

Ripples lap at the shore line, stealing

Pebbles. I think I’d rather grow

Gills and dive, deep down to a

Place where words don’t

Exist so we’d just shake fins and smile.

                          poetic bloomings- prompt #20