The heart gets mossy in its cool reserve,
a deep retreat to save one’s nerve.
But it is lonely.
A bird wings by
with water on its beak.
A dry leaf sings as it
rubs against the eave.
I am myself in all of this,
a sweet asylum,
a taste of bliss.
But it is lonely.
The heart stands apart
in the falling dew and
knows its loss
is ever-new.
No wisdom gathered,
no new love gained.
The sore pressed-down,
an endless strain.
But there arises eternal sun
that shines on those whose
work is done.
The heart, now open, is given over
to every seed and every clover.
It sings of sorrow joined with bliss.
The Jesus hand, the angel kiss.
The heart now floating on the
wing of song is ever-present,
all day long.
Vicki Woodyard
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Gary, you done said a mouthful, bro.
I have found that the most overlooked reward that wisdom provides
It is called loneliness and once you have it you can’t give it back.
The games and entertainments of the many,
No longer interest you for you see it as it is.
And now you are a person who is not so fun to be around.
A party pooper, a dullard of the nth degree.
You even try to fake it, so you can belong.
Trying just to get along but they can tell,
You are different but there will be a few that like that
It is rare, most want there own folly indorsed and agreed too
So then the apparent reality is you’re back in the dream again.
So you make the best of it by adjusting your attitude,
Then by simply serving out the remainder of your life sentence.
“…every seed and every clover”…love the soft, cool, green feeling of that. Bless you, Vicki.