The mirror seems a mystery code
Never to be cracked
The shards of glass
Upon my feet
Were never meant to last
April showers return again
To give the seeds their due
They wet the many
But those that grow
May only be a few
Life and Death
Oh how we toil
The mind around and round
Fixed and bent
With tools once lent
We journey on our way
Not to fear but fear itself
Sounds so good to say
Sweet dreams my sweet
Down to your feet
Blessed be that march among the soil.
-
Leslie Abbott
-
From Canada
-
Toni
