The diapers are washed

And hung in the sunshine.

The baby is sleeping, the children at play.

Corn’s hoed,

greens are gathered,

Lucy is reading up in the willow

grateful for breathing,

wrapped in warm light and

the day’s soft shadow.


— — — turning

In our darkest stillest center we are

aware of the stars whirling above

and around all of us

singing small creatures who

have courage to live

in respect for the power of love,

and be glad.

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