The Moon began her lullaby
Long before I was born.
She sees nothing new on earth;
Why do I fear her scorn?
If she did not like me,
She would still have to shine down.
She cannot pick favorites:
All who live bask in her crown.
-
-
I breathe. The scent of
Dampened earth
Is rising from the ground.It mingles with the
Pungent smoke,
A neighbor’s fireplace.My garden’s fading;
Falling leaves
Create the only sound.I settle down;
October air feels
Cool against my face. -
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 blameFor these tears in the earth,
An emptiness that grows?
Words have very little worth;
Tuesday’s child knows. -
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. -
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. -
Trap a butterfly
In the wood.
It would fly away,
If it could.It too longs to
Spread its wings,
Hearing what the
Season sings.It fades into
The sky above.
Learn what it can
Say of love.Where’s it going?
Why was it made?
Will its colors
Ever fade? -
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! -
Let not your heart be parted
To be placed in strangers’ hands,
Because hearts are fragile;
They will break in loveless lands.You’ll find out who loves you
When your heart they do not steal.
Seeing you become so frail,
They will help you heal.If one day your heart insists
On care from someone new,
Be sure they will cherish it,
Remembering it’s you. -
An old clock ticks;
It’s half-past one.
Above, a Star
Sees everyone.The broken souls
On streets below
Have found no cure,
No place to go.The old clock has
Not known a night
When Star has turned
Away her sight.Stirred by pity
At human fright,
She breaks the fog
To shine her light. -
Twirl with me;
I’m dressed
As if I had died
Years ago.Memories will
Wrap around us
Like rolls of
Fine silk.You can never
Know for sure
Where our old waltz
Could go.Wear your gloves
And we shall trot;
See the moon?
Pale as milk!Twirl with me:
This music
Follows you
If you say no. -
Great love helps a plant grow strong.
Her children can withstand the storms
Of life when tears become the song
And there is much to mourn.Great love gives fire to a hearth
When winter nights are long and bleak.
She’s nurturing the growing earth,
Comforting the weak.Great love—she’s an ocean wide,
The deepest and the warmest sea.
There are always hugs inside,
And they’re always free. -
Evening’s colder.
The crickets are crying.
October nears, and
The forest is dying.Birds in their companies
Far-away flying;
Trees shedding foliage—
Their forest is dying.I’m in a fog, and
My spirit is sighing.
Where can I go where
My wood isn’t dying?Shadows are stretching;
Perhaps I was lying.
Here I will stay, and
The forest is dying.
