A thickish blue in its dancing rays
is rare
The rivers resound softly
A gentle song pervades
across the moor
A visage of a man is heard
far from the blackish gates
His pray louder than the russet Sun

When you love someone and you only receive pain from them you cry day and night hoping it would chain. Your heart hurts you feel so low for giving your love to them knowing there’s been many years of deceit. Let’s keep in mind The pain is thickish from within side of you. You know the pain is inside so truly painful

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                            Where do Sunflowers go in August?


                 May our love for the Sun, the will of God, be as strong
                 as the sunflower’s…

                                     -attributed to St. John of Tobolsk


With the mower I took the sunflowers down
The withered remnants, stalks and heads and seeds
Those few remaining seeds rejected by the birds
For reasons of their own

With the mower I circled ‘round and round
Building a thickish thatch as a sort of nest
For seeds in anticipation of autumn
The seasons know their own

With the mower I saw high summer gone
I mowed – or had I mown?