-------At End, a Beginning-------
Songs of the weathered stone
have made their way
to our soul
in the fruits of the earth.
A child smiles
and our world crumbles.
A flower flowers
from the Winter's garden.
Every song dies
upon its making;
and every seed
to sow anew.
These are the gifts
that hold us true.
Those who have
let go
are now free
to sing.
-------
No comments:
Post a Comment