If I murmur, talk or sing
Guard the magic with this ring.
Hold the thought and come what may
Let the sacred children play.
Understand but don’t read through.
Spirit will enlighten you.
Then forgive and what we’ve done
May be forgiven. Life’s begun.
Text: Linked to dVerse Quadrille hosted by De Jackson (aka WhimsyGizmo) with the word “murmur”. Because of the lines about forgiveness I am linking this to Debbie Roth’s Forgiving Fridays. I don’t know what this poem means. It just murmured its way here.
Photos: “Icicles in the Sun”, above, and “More Icicles”, below, taken at noon on this relatively warm winter’s day.
The weather is too cold, too hot, too wet, too dry but something, since there’s room, if only rock, may call it home and welcome passing waves of water, air and other life although what comes may soon move on. Its welcome doesn’t mind the moving on. It’s glad to serve as ground.
We build out there where weather’s hot or cold or wet or dry like plants that cuddle sheltered by the cracks from waves of water, air and other life. It’s bleak but something calls this pure space home and some proclaim this home a sacred place.