Kids don’t forget smells of apple pies,
Nor the yelling of soft mothers bleats;
Lost sheep called from quicksand lies
Cross a landscape of two storied eyes
And still embrace that one human meat;
Then bite forbidden fruit for casements clear,
To a mirror of many supposed bets,
And that roulette spins to wonderlands sphere;
Where many wander in a youthful year
And they hunger for her fortunes debt.
Yet roads linger for our mislaid plan
And three eagles fly on mountains high,
In a temple laid by creatures clan
Built of heavenly earth from Israel’s Dan;
And our hidden arm is erased why’s,
Of lowly earthworms and mankind’s race,
To face eternal sighs from fisherman’s line:
Lost sheep called from quicksand’s lie, and grace--
Took that treasured gift of human base,
And mixed grapevines into an eternal wine
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Love,
ET
Edwin
From glen to glen you bring us poetry.
Georg
Gorgeous visuals here, Larry, Love this one.
Peace, love, and light,
Amber "V"