- Meander
- Seasons
drift over our faces
- like
ripples on a pond.
- We hardly
notice.
-
- Storms
flood the valleys,
- lightning
sears the sky,
- sweetening
the mountaintops.
-
- Ideals
and passions
- spring
from the greening,
- fading
with the seasons --
- they
always return to the earth.
-
- Our love
is the soil
- through
which
- the roots
of our lives
- meander.
|
