The livening brook.
Mill stones pounding.
The burst of blossom,
Sending up banners
Stretching and reaching.
The giggle and her chortle.
Roses that rises.
With the tease and delight.
The youth, for whom nothing disappoints.
Whilst yet the sun is in the air.
And the chirrups beat out hope.
The hustle and the bustle.
The slow gain, that quick loss.
The competition of sinew,
The pitting and the win.
The quiver shooting up spine.
Those laughing eyes under grey brows.
That quickening memory.
They bring to light one who slumbered,
Awaken and live.
Like you had not slept.
END
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1 comment:
When all looks lost. Hope Springs.
There is always hope so long as the sun rises. And the sun is always rising, it’s just you need to be in the right place to see the sun rising when you need it most.
That place is where hope lives.
And the brother of hope is ever courage.
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