@The Pentacle Queen,
Days are like grass the wind moves over:
first the wind & then the silence"
what cannot be said we must pass over
in silence, or play some music over
in our heads. Silently, a wind goes over
(we know from the motion of the grass).
Days are like grass; the wind goes over:
first the wind & then the silence.
~ J. Duemer, For Wittgenstein
The Wood and the Trees
fresco exploring sonnet form about five years ago
Walk with me along this childhood path.
Once thoughts were budding here like Sprin's array
That fir, as sapling knew my breath
And bent to the grasp of random play.
Here was the stream where Summer's heat
Trickled to cool beneath the tree
And stark stones sharp beneath my feet
Stippled the flow of eternity.
That which was supple, time binds firm
And that which was wide, to stricture grows.
Each junction of life invites our turn
But closes behind mind's dark hedgerows.
Youth's smiles and tears may betoken nought
Until life's path has its values wrought.