Wednesday, February 20, 2013


World Without End

Rapt, in a senselit wood, she sat,
Among wiildflowers, dreaming that
They spoke to her in myriad hues,
Telling fragrant green-Earth news.

They spoke of Fate, of Hope in clime,
Of perfect, golden-atomed Time,
Of phoenix life: of death and rise,
And as she was still new ... and wise ...
She listened well, and learned not all
Forevers die, when Edens fall.


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