ThanksgivingJanuary 5, 2016 10:46 pm Leave your thoughts
There are many ways we may:
imagine the motion of the stars,
feel the stillness of the forest,
watch the waters rise at spring tide,
hear wild horses in the mist,
sing the music of the ocean.
A scattering of worlds forsaken
in the first winds of the fall
that shakes the trees for the season.
And the ripening fruit knows its time
before frost glistens in the sun.
Fallen branches lie like bones
when the flesh is taken
as the fruit is taken
returning to the earth.
We may taste an obligation here,
an awakening to this life.
And in the eye eternity
The dust has a silence
that speaks of abandon.
“As if it were all over?”
the wise man mused, smiling
his watchful glance at a question
posed like a stalker’s shadow.
The poet’s heart beats its rhythm.
a celestial villanelle
of life measured to an end
for the perfect word
that speaks of beginning
a thought for thanksgiving,
a prayer for the asking
at last the question:
“What land is this, pioneer?”
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This post was written by Geoffrey Heptonstall