Whosoever………
whosoever comes to me whosoever opens the gate whosoever shares my sorrow
once i could name this whosoever but now names erased the slate clean
this morning mild overcast the golden light
of indian summer hangs on the morning silent i am not impatient
but long for the transformation of snow blankets of white it is as if
the whole world waits anticipation in the air the neighborhood dogs still sleep
i also wait for whosoever comes opens the gate shares my sorrow
November 4, 2017
1 comment:
the transformative power of snow! a necessary reduction so that the essential might speak, might be seen.
whosoever can open such a gate speaks with one skin. (i think that place of sorrow is the same place of joy and love.)
beautiful, aching and hopeful contemplation, annell
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