And Then the Sun Will Rise
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Life just one of many tares
upon our soul’s lost fabric shorn.
smaller losses grown beside
such little mosses sown.
breeding lichen friends to all;
mounting by and bye,
in hopes to high escape the wall.
When first lost directions fallow;
tomorrow is the laugh,
so lilting shallow life, the fatted calf.
Breech the breeze; her golden face and sleeve
her bladed arc swung longe to endless grieve.
for thou art made of mud and such,
unbeknownst; until a touch,
and then
the sun will rise.
Copyright © Vernon Witmer | Year Posted 2020
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