To the Glory of God
To Gwyneth, with Love
It reminds me of being at the cottage
The power of nature, the power of water
As it grows like wood
That can’t be broken
Time etches the rocks
The wood feeds
The future where roots
Will flow again
Fossils swirl
Into our minds
Like our first steps and in the sun
We dig little holes and little castles rise
The irony is already there
The clown need not be paid
Then he is our closest friend
Basking in the glow of fallen storms
Mountains in the distance are like dark green
Deep blue hanging in the clouds
Simple buildings are bright yellow
Like pasta they celebrate our moment
Small pops of an inside green little pea
We try to get through them
So that something gets started
Like they never begin or end
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