Trust the fall yet be sure that you will catch you. Glide along with the wind yet be sure that you will swoop down when you desire.
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As springs’ budding blossoms emerge
the raptors glide mercilessly.
I wrote this haiku-like poem on 3-27-2023 after the Nashville Covenant school shooting massacre. — Michael R. Burch
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Death glides in on calico wings,
a breath of a moth
seeking a companionable light,
where it hovers, unsure,
sullen, shy or demure,
in the margins of night,
a soft blur...
('Fascination with Light' by Michael R. Burch)
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If growing up means no more carnival rides, candy apples red, where carousels glide, no Merry Christmases or jingle bells, no more happy ending stories to tell, I want to never, no never grow up!
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