Читать книгу The Wisdom of Wild Grace - Christine Valters Paintner - Страница 11

Cry out and write,

were the words you heard

tumble toward you from

the blue-spattered sky

midway through your life,

Follow the greening,

you tell me in dreams

and I reach for the thread

which slips from my

close-clutched hand

on fine days.

How? I plead,

you show me my dog

playing in the sunlight,

the way shadows sashay

across my desk, and the orchid

holds out her purple tongue.

Always make time for tea,

you utter as you take me

by the hand through the garden,

show me dandelion and thistle,

yarrow and sage, sipping

slows you down so you can see.

Listen to the flowers teach,

you whisper,

find a meadow, lie down,

and wait for the poem to arrive,

I scoff and sigh

then find myself

among marigold, long

grasses, and loosestrife

all singing their glee

and my page is full

before I remember how

I resisted coming here at all.