Beat Of The Drum. Poem by Michael Cochrane

In the heart of the Blackhills where whispers weave, I find beauty in the simplest things. A bee, golden and vibrant, dances on the breeze. Its hum a sacred song, a hymn of life and wings. Raindrops kiss the petals, soft and pure, each one a tear of joy, a blessing from the sky. They shimmer in the dawn a silent allure, reflecting the souls light, the earth's gentle sigh. The eagle soars above the Prarie in the endless blue, it crys of freedom to the realms unseen. The river flows to the beat of the earth, the rhythm of the land. This is where I find connection to the ancient wise ones, the sounds of the drum, and the stories of old by the campfires.
Michael Cochrane © 2024