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I started washing up today,
A plate slipped from my hand,
It shattered into a thousand parts,
Scattered across the land.

Each piece a tiny fragment,
Of what once was whole,
Reflecting how I sometimes feel,
Deep within my soul.

The jagged edges glisten,
In the morning light,
A mirror to the brokenness,
I often try to hide.

But in the midst of chaos,
There’s beauty to be found,
In the way the pieces sparkle,
As they lie upon the ground.

For even in our brokenness,
There’s strength and grace to see,
A reminder that we can rebuild,
And find our way to be.
In the realm of skies and fleece,
The weather dances wild and free.
The sun shines bright, the rain does pour,
Changing moods forevermore.

Yet there stands the humble wether,
In pasture fields, through all weather.
Calm and steady, in the breeze,
Amidst the storm, amidst the peace.

When lightning strikes and thunder roars,
The weather shows its fearsome force.
But still, the wether stands its ground,
With silent strength, without a sound.

The weather shifts with every day,
A symphony in nature's play.
The wether, though, remains the same,
A steadfast soul, without acclaim.

Both weather and wether teach us well,
Of life's great ebb and flow to tell.
In ever-changing skies and land,
Find balance, grace, and understand.

For in the world of earth and sky,
We learn to live, we learn to try.
Like weather's whim and wether's grace,
We face our storms, we find our place.
Dedicated to Joys life long friend who farms on the Yorkshire Dales so beloved by Joy and where her ashes are scattered.
He had to come back.

On a December afternoon
when the sun was more to west,
he landed on the most favorite place of his house,
the roof.

Just as he had imagined
the still winter air was abuzz with life.

Doves were pairing for a home
Green bee-eaters swooped on insects
Two herons kept following the grazing cow
Crows were busy with twigs and wires
High up beyond where paper kites could soar
Storks slow sunned their wings wet from the jhil
The cats warmed their furs before the cold night
The stray puppy gamboled with its mother.

Each piece had perfectly fitted the other
including the silently sleeping house.

He was tempted to walk down once
has she changed any little way?

He smiled to himself
then breezed away from the roof.
repost
a drop of rain upon a leaf
our lives flow slowly down

so amaphorous and brief
we make our way to ground

as we hang on to the end
of the blade we've found

we cannot on this place depend
so slip off without a sound

~~~

the blade of grass we clung to
hears the soft refrain

of the drip, it's music
it's leaf could not sustain

but it can't feel sorry
for the soil needs the rain.


soulsurvivor
(c) january 23, 2016

I wrote this on my birthdays
A while back. Thanks for reading.
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