Cosmic dust is what we are,Remnants of an ancient star,Drifted to a distant shore,To dance a while in sunlight,Then slip away into the night,Back into
Month: February 2022
Across a field of clover running, Through the dew-wet sward I go, Laws of earth and heaven shunning, Through the streams of sunshine flow. Bees
Blessed be the flower of hope;That sprouts roots in any soil,With all weather willing to cope,To reap the reward of toil! I will feast on