On a 4/4 beat of feet, the furry folk arrive,
Leaving paw prints all across our days,
Strewing naps across our sunshine places.
As faithful as a shadow,
These offspring of Chaos and Delight,
Weave themselves into the warp and weft of every day,
Born knowing when to lead,
When to follow,
And when to walk beside.
Oh, how they grace us with their presence!
As agile as a smile, as lithe as laughter,
They pitter-pat along the pathways of our hearts,
And what a wounded emptiness they leave behind
When it is time for them to go.
But...
Sure as spring comes after winter,
When at last it comes our time to go,
We will find them waiting for us
Just inside the Gate,
Whole ardent for the next adventure,
For it would not be Heaven otherwise.
I found this little shard of song, while wandering the shores of the Dreaming Sea.
It lay tangled in a wrack of questions, abandoned by the lisping waves among the pebbles.One day I might take it up, make polite inquiries, and see if it will answer. In the meantime, let it sit here on this metaphorical window sill to catch the light and glitter enigmatically, humming quietly to itself.
A spontaneous manifestation of iambic pentameter from out of the ether. An orphan verse, alas, still looking for the rest of the poem. I’ll be interested to see what it finds. . .
“There is a bridge to the Land of Sighs
That is not for the faint of heart.
The road is long, the route unmarked
And the map is full of lies.”
The poem Flying at Night by Ted Kooser.
WOW! As I read, the imagery of it blossomed in my head, lighting up the darkness of my mind’s sky like a brilliant white starburst firework. POW!
A spontaneous manifestation of iambic pentameter from out of the ether. An orphan verse, alas, still looking for the rest of the poem. I’ll be interested to see what it finds. . .
Wol's River of Stones 