Always In a Distance Coming
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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.”
Copyright © Vernon Witmer | Year Posted 2021
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