Was that the wind
A tempest blew,
Or ‘stead,
Vestiges of my life
Gone whooshing by?
~ ~ ~
Now The Answers Will Come
Was that the wind
A tempest blew,
Or ‘stead,
Vestiges of my life
Gone whooshing by?
~ ~ ~
Cast me ashes to the sky
When done my time to be,
As the winsome butterfly,
Free
~ ~ ~
I am a sojourner
having thinned my soles
’tween the youthful vigor of the warm Pacific
and the cold awakening of the Atlantic,
and I am weathered, fit of wear,
sufficiently rounded to
ply my strides where now I walk
amidst the soothing souls.
Why must there always be
a little “Never” in “Always?”