They Chuckle In the Wind
The empty canes of raspberries hang low
Red maple leaves are mashed up in the mud
Nature seems to hover by death’s door
Animals and humans drained as whores
No feeling ,no green sap,no flowing blood
The crackling canes of raspberries hang low as
What can we say un-cliched, metaphored?
At dawn the sun will burn despite the Flood
Nature did not force us through death’s door
Can the death of God mean this and more,
Though love and hate are fractured, life is good?
The chuckling canes the berries sang below
Can a life with heart not be restored?
End retaliation, understand
Nature did not wave us through the door
At the edge of Europe are no hordes
Jesus is more small than any bud
The crackling canes stored laughter in their cores
The remnants of the foxgloves in the wood
Wave politely . even seem to nod
The raspberry canes, the honesty know more
Nature ,light and darkness, affect stored
S
Copyright © Mary Braithwaite | Year Posted 2022
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