Just a Minute
A single minute contained in a poem
Just a Minute
News spews endless atrocities
every minute of every day of every week
wars and politics and wars about politics
and countless voices vying for attention
with urgent needs and opinions
while speeding cars and trucks race
like rats away and back again.
But I wasn’t created for this.
I don’t believe any of us were —
in the beginning.
There was a time long ago when a minute
held less but much more at the same time
when it was filled with quiet stillness
and the only things busying were the bees.
A time similar to this one minute
when all is quiet in the early morning
and the only sounds are the minute as it ticks by
and the chorus of the dawn
singing a sweet melody of belonging
and the calm breeze rustling the birch with a voice
like a thousand silver coins falling from heaven
