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.

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Butterfly


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?

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!

On Love


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.

Grandmas


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.

Forest is Dying


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.

Flowers In My Hair


I wear flowers in my hair,
Even when they’re not in bloom.
Vining plants are everywhere,
Winding ‘round my room.

God made four seasons to be;
He is wise and he is fair.
Still, I look around and see
The Green is ever there.

Let me dream that things can stay,
Even after a farewell.
Then I can more easily say,
“So long—time will tell.”

Autumn does not mean a thing:
Forests spring up in my heart.
This dream I’ll keep nurturing,
Until I’m full of art.