The Road


 In the rain, cotton dresses grow heavy

In the lane the trees are rife with dance

The wanderer goes wandering in a trance.

The patient one trips lightly along

Discussing Neitzche with the oak who is wise

Down in the clearing the rain softly sighs

The colors are swimming

The silence is dimming

The one who was lost

Slowly rises

The wanderer

Onto pointed toes

A spinning she goes

Spinning she goes

Round and round and round




The wanderer looks down

With laughter at Earth’s frown

Reaching the sun’s crown

She pauses to drown

His light takes her slowly

Tells her all that is holy

As she falls into his effervescent might

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