mindsinger | February 19, 2010
The organ commenced a rousing tune,
the creaking giant stirred.
The old man’s eyes grew misty and soft
and he spoke, though no one heard.
“I shaped you with care and my hands still know
the dimensions of every line.
How it feels to follow the tangled curve
of mane and trappings fine.
mindsinger | February 12, 2010
Fleet of foot he was
Silver as a mountain mist
Head thrown high to taste the rain
His hooves struck fire from the shifting sands.
mindsinger | May 17, 2009
Fleet of foot he was
Silver as a mountain mist
Head thrown high to taste the rain
His hooves struck fire from the shifting sands.
Donna Swanson, poet, author, lyricist and artist, lives on the edge of the Great Prairie in Indiana. She has written and published seven books, soon to be eight, and is working on a chapbook trilogy of poetry introduced by Gloria Gaither. She has carved three full-size carousel figures and dozens of miniatures. Swanson writes two columns for her home-town newspaper: one for adults, Donna’s Country Roads, and one for children, Granny’s Place. Bible student and teacher of adult Bible classes for over thirty years, her poetry and prose are deeply rooted in her faith.
