Morning Poem, February 13, 2017


I wonder what is out there

In this morning

If I would walk alone on the old path, barely there

And listen for the thought of the teachers

Of the old school, those men

Who lost their battle

But whose side will win the war


There is nothing left of their place

The brick storys and tall windows all gone

There is no marker, no stone or sign

No outward evidence of their work


But I know they will win

For every other sign is of losing

The houses are empty boxes

And the cars speed on

Not knowing where they are going

There is not enough balm to soothe the pain

And every beautiful thing is painted over.


Come back, old men

And tell again of beauty

Leave open the meadows

Leave the hills in forest


Where, oh where is the ancient pathway

Where are the turrets, the dreamy spires

The firelit rooms

The mystery protected?

copyright 2017

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