Hear the sacred earth,its symphony.

If our  winters never had an end
And flowers no longer bloomed in ecstasy
Into hell my soul would then descend

In these harsh winds the little branches  bend
Birds hide in  trees ,deep where we cannot see
Into blackness my soul would descend

So gone would be the  sunflowers which we tend
Gone would be the person we call  me
If frosty winter never had an end

We would mourn and our own garments rend
To fantasy  we  might  all  blindly flee
Into shade our souls   would descend.

We mus confess our sins and make amends
And reconciled with fellow humans be
For   eternal winter , we have made no plans

Hear the sacred earth,its symphony.
Music, art and spirit all agree
If fierce  winter  calls us to attend
In acknowledging   our  errors, we  ascend.

 

 

 

 

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About Kate Thwaite

I love writing , conversation, art, wild flowers, music and air.And books
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