"And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring"
Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.
The Prophet sounds a dead loss.
ReplyDeleteI try not to have snow in my heart.
ReplyDeleteAn ode to death . . . nice!
ReplyDelete