Days slip by.
Jewels of time, precious
falling, to be buried in
memories of moments past.
To re-dis-cover such moments
is an act of new creation;
old moments under new light
sparkle with a fire that
burns the dust away—
So must those who have seen
write—engrave the future on—
the emblems of the past.
How precious, how fragile is all I see!
Green leaf and mown grass —
delicate clouds that drop down cleansing rain
on fertile earth;
tranquil air breaks through to skies of blue,
in which fly birds still free to hunt their food,
abundant still.
Will we awake, one day,
To say, in shocked dismay,
“Remember”?
June 2004
this peom is very nice
Comment by jiali — February 10, 2009 @ 4:48 am |