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Poem

Caught within the echo of the whispering pine
Whose bough shall sound a creaking wind.
Pleading us enjoin her labour
Giving birth to songs we long to sing.

A song we’re taught 
That springtimes coming won’t be long.
That standing on a mountains past
But for an instant we may rule our world;
Sunrise/sunset there before us; flag unfurled.

Footsteps crunching on the crust of every snow
Setting deep within a magic glow
To keep us warm
To give us hope
Always in a distance coming 
Morning sun to evening star
Always not so far.

Silence in between 
The sound of each man’s soul.
Blade of grass to dance 
Sway with every gentle breeze.
Fall away to prayers offered up 
From bended knees.
Every moment lingers until 
Those fingers turn another page
And this we name as age

While mountains nearby still erase 
The face of every man. 
In depth of height 
All blades of grass 
Exchanged for flakes of snow.

And this I know:

“not to dream… 
but be a part of all that may be dreamt.”

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