Hoot owls in the dark wood, back and forth in call and response and a third slighter chucking sound. Above a range of stars, Jupiter a beacon. Why weigh the soul with what’s been lost? Live these few remarkable years. Add your voice to the night choir with obeisance to the visible and invisible on this journey through the end of time, faith sure and full of hope for the task that’s coming.
1 comment:
Magnificent poem. Thank you Don. db
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