Skip to main content


 The Sapling

So long we waited 

And the time is here 

At last

A southern wind has blown 

The sapling from the vast and distant shore

And has returned it full and grown 

Home to its root once more

The soil rejoices as it feels the quiver of his tread

The soil where once he fed

Which bled when long ago the little seed took flight

And had to fight to grow in foreign land

And learn to understand another way

But for today 

The sapling will drink thirstily and long 

And for today he’ll grow

Where he belongs 


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Granny's Hands Granny’s Hands           Hold my hand Granny Tell me again How many times is seventy times seven And what does forgive mean Tell me again.   Granny’s hands have spots all over Tell me again Why does the sun make everything better When tomorrow comes Tell me again.   Granny picks Rosemary and Lemon Verbena Everything smells Of Lemon Verbena Teach me again Granny Those easy lessons Of making things better With Lemon Verbena   Children can live on ripe pomegranates Pork crackling snacks  fresh Apple Pie Two late husbands and burying two children and yet, I only once saw her cry.   The way to fix things was to Unpack your cupboards “Sadness will go,” Granny would say. “Sadness can’t live in nice tidy cupboards,” But what do you do with it? Pack it away?   Granny’s hands were soft and gentle Rough and wrinkly At the same time   Hold my hand Granny Tell me again How many times is seventy times seven times seventy times...

Nighttime Solitude

  Nighttime Solitude A lone peafowl pines plaintively across the darkened land Perhaps to call a mate or warn of passing danger But, I, a stranger do not understand For there are stranger sounds here where the darkened blossoms fall  A whispered footfall of a bushbuck shy, Nearby an owl hoo hoos and Who knows why for I a stranger to this night song of the frogs that sing And silent flight of night bird on the wing  I am a stranger to this safety in the dark  I blow the embers of the fire I made to keep the spark To fan the flame beneath the last log’s coal to burn more brightly For tomorrow I return to home and  Noisy cars and sirens nightly And to sorrow But for now I’ll sit a little longer by this tiny hearth The embers bright Competing only with Moon’s dappled light upon the appled earth And remember all the things I loved and love  put away the sorrow and the sadness for tonight  And ponder in the solitude that  Nighttime isn’t dark It’s just ...