Owlhearted


I am owlhearted.
I sing and then I rest
On the highest shelf, on which
I made a cozy nest.

I am owlhearted.
I slumber in the day.
Fairies will come out at night,
And that is when I play.

I am owlhearted.
You can’t deceive me,
For it is not with my eyes,
But my soul, that I see.

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Tuesday Morning’s Child


Snowy hills have piled;
Whispering wind is heard.
Only Tuesday morning’s child
Makes out every word.

Frosty window-glass,
Snowy blankets grand.
Which dark things have come to pass
Upon this frigid land?

Things the sun has seen,
Things the moon will mourn,
Until every soul has passed
Away and been Reborn.

How can human tongue,
Limited, explain
What has hurt this land so long?
Who can be to blame

For these tears in the earth,
An emptiness that grows?
Words have very little worth;
Tuesday’s child knows.

Near Eden


Water cupped in my two hands
Bears the rich taste of the land.
Paths that loved me brought me here:
Eden must be near.

Maybe when I’ve breathed my last,
When what I know of earth has passed,
I will wander, light and free,
Underneath this canopy.

I drink. The water’s fresh and clean,
And I’m forgetting where I’ve been.
Overhead, a pigeon sings
Of love and gentle things.

If I should dive, would I need air?
Perhaps I would thrive swimming there,
Gathering shells and greeting trout.
I’d never come out.

Pigeon pleads for me to stay—
“Really, it’s a lovely day!”
Eden is not far, I know;
There’s nowhere left to go.

Let the Land Rest


Why are you afraid to feel
The yearly sleep of winter,
When there’s frost-scent in the air
And leaves from the trees splinter?

Have you never longed to curl up
Underneath a quilt,
After a long day of toil
Caused your soul to wilt?

Wasn’t it the sweetest rest
When you could move no more?
The instant you rested your head,
Sleep began its lure…

Trees and flowers are like you,
Thriving on the land.
Do not mourn when leaves are crisp,
But try to understand.

Hear that rustle in the breeze?
It’s nature’s stifled yawn.
Go inside and find a blanket,
Because life goes on.

Leisure Time


Let’s sit in the Wood for hours.
All our tasks at home can wait.
I’ll point out the pretty flowers,
While you talk to me of fate.

My struggle, I must confess,
Is living life to a strict law:
Checking tasks off of a list,
Seeking a day without flaw.

The real flaw is to live in chains.
Beauty hides in this still place!
Sit with me, and if it rains,
A deluge we’ll embrace!