The Gift
You play guitar with your friends, laughing
On the street
You talk with the potter, the bamboo man,
The woman who sells cut flowers,
And when it is raining
You are singing
And when the sun is shining on all that is wet
You are listening
In the golden light,
And you dare not question -
Though you keep breathing
In and out
This luminous morning -
All that has been or may be lost.
You dare not ask how it is that
When it is raining
You are singing
And when the sun is shining
You are listening
And breathing -
In and out -
A great, big, luminous morning,
A great, big, luminous love.
On the street
You talk with the potter, the bamboo man,
The woman who sells cut flowers,
And when it is raining
You are singing
And when the sun is shining on all that is wet
You are listening
In the golden light,
And you dare not question -
Though you keep breathing
In and out
This luminous morning -
All that has been or may be lost.
You dare not ask how it is that
When it is raining
You are singing
And when the sun is shining
You are listening
And breathing -
In and out -
A great, big, luminous morning,
A great, big, luminous love.
posted by MB at 7:51 AM
5 Comments:
Mmm... poetry. REAL poetry.
Lovely.
G.
Moose - you have a blog!! And it's a beautiful one with poetry. I will be visiting again...
rare blue, thank you for your kind words. I checked out your blog and you have some nice photos. Thanks for visiting.
mary, I'm glad you stopped by, lovely to have you! :-)
beautiful moose and a good start to my meditation. thank you.
I am honored that it served you well, Ruth.
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