Читать книгу Stony the Road - Harold J. Recinos - Страница 17

a memory of a perfect morning

is filled with early Spring scents

that carry you to high mountains

and back, again. the frail flowers

there gently touched by raindrops

from gods in play will draw you

toward the great design where Eden

still gives herself to unmake your

nightmares. the color of our skin and

crisping hair is flawless beauty from

the kindest God. the hands we hold

and magic words pouring from our

fulsome lips sweet elegance to see and

hear. before I die the wind will pull

down the marching white sheets, the

loveless visions and rudderless men

who blow out the candles at heavenly

saint’s feet to keep the world dim. I

will not live long enough to cross the

Jordan but when the darkness settles

I will stir from the grave to see it

come.