It could be angels….

file0001743812474 (1)
..the stars they write their story, the moon, the moon forgets to shine. The answer is the only question and I repeat it till I die

The trees so green,
an ancient scene.
It could be Paris
in the spring.

My heart abloom
in my small room.
It could be angels
on the wing.

The stars, the moon,
it ends so soon.
The seed in bloom,
the petals die.

The master speaks
and I grow weak.
His tone so solemn
in its pace.
I never let you look on me
because we share
a single face.

I die in love,
I fall above.
The moon and stars
forget to shine.
I kneel in peace.
The questions cease.
The trees are answering
with a sigh.

No matter now,
I turn and bow,
It all comes down to
I and thou.

Vicki Woodyard

Comments welcomed....