If I Knew The Answer To That,
yet He hints pro-lifically pro-digiously,
for after all, the Creator is a
pro,
who
gives us tools, the wherewithal,
to choose to use to lose with griev’us neglect,
not she, Jenny, she looks the window pained,
since the trees yellowing before winter’s
death dyeing, but not denying, therein,
within lies seeded hope of our own,
resurrection, the empty denuded branches
point accusingly heavenwards, j’accuse, j’accuse,
but the Lord he knows this dance far too well,
and feed the soil damp loving, so his nature’d colors,
yet may dance upon the water table, and
all the ‘plaints, once again for gotten, are
now spent, re-fund-ed
and the smile upon the words that J. will sprout,
come spring, so apt a season named, that the mind
t’is, must* be awaiting for those boiling brooks,
heralding within those sounds of rushing, are the
necessary words the,
Lord has harvested, and fruited, awaiting the keenness
of her eyes, to pick and gentle, then re~plant,
tender tend, harvest, and feed us her feast in language,
of all that her eyes have seen, that we blithely amiss,
and that her tongue doth
feeds our souls, all of us daily,
and this day too,
<nml>*
November 8, 2025,
or as her wont,
VIII/XI/MMXXV
<nml>
Nov 8, 2025
Nov 8, 2025 at 8:11 AM UTC
If I Knew The Answer To That,
yet He hints pro-lifically pro-digiously,
for after all, the Creator is a
pro,
who
gives us tools, the wherewithal,
to choose to use to lose with griev’us neglect,
not she, Jenny, she looks the window pained,
since the trees yellowing before winter’s
death dyeing, but not denying, therein,
within lies seeded hope of our own,
resurrection, the empty denuded branches
point accusingly heavenwards, j’accuse, j’accuse,
but the Lord he knows this dance far too well,
and feed the soil damp loving, so his nature’d colors,
yet may dance upon the water table, and
all the ‘plaints, once again for gotten, are
now spent, re-fund-ed
and the smile upon the words that J. will sprout,
come spring, so apt a season named, that the mind
t’is, must* be awaiting for those boiling brooks,
heralding within those sounds of rushing, are the
necessary words the,
Lord has harvested, and fruited, awaiting the keenness
of her eyes, to pick and gentle, then re~plant,
tender tend, harvest, and feed us her feast in language,
of all that her eyes have seen, that we blithely amiss,
and that her tongue doth
feeds our souls, all of us daily,
and this day too,
<nml>*
November 8, 2025,
or as her wont,
VIII/XI/MMXXV
<nml>
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