ALL IN ITS OWN GOOD TIME/ SUNDAY WORDLE #345 -- Poets United

ALL IN ITS OWN GOOD TIME

I rise from the pit

Pry your fingers lose

From my throat

You release me

We sit in the tree tops

Whistle to ourselves

Hum a happy tune

From long ago

Gather the eggs in the yard

Still warm

We hold them close

Touch their creamy shells

We hold them to our ears

Listen for their magic 

Sounds of the universe

Stars collide

Muffled sounds come to us

Words we cannot understand

Feet of clay

Skin of dust

All in its own good time

Don’t push

April 1, 2018