~Sophia Landon Geier
Of Loss
The geese, like the seasons, are confused.
They dance the dance of butterflies
back and forth through Indian summer -
of sunrise and sunset, chasing light.
They, and Oakley Hall... They get it -
they grieve the loss of beauty and artistry,
and countless nameless things, but without knowing:
they are the art and motion of change
that defines the beauty that becomes of loss.
Oh, Erin.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful.
*sigh* This is gorgeous, Erin. *hugs*
ReplyDeleteThanks ladies. I'm still editing this - it isn't quite "right" yet, but I'll get it eventually lol.
ReplyDeleteHello Erin, a quick fly over visit here... all those pictures of yer kids... and this..
ReplyDelete"they are the art and motion of change,
that defines the beauty that becomes of loss."
Strong thoughts in those words, eh. Lady, lady, Elm, your loss laments here, and loud, a lady Job`s fountain of children....
Cliff_ not at home so signing in faster as anon.
Fascinating, I enjoyed this
ReplyDelete