The Song you are made of will STOP…

The Song you are made of will STOP…

Everything stops
and ends—
but, it begins AGAIN


In my timeless years of life—
Some might say, “She’s young”—
others might whisper, “She’s old.”

But, I’ve watched the seasons
and go.

I’ve longed for Spring—
the flowers birthing through earth’s soils,
leaves unfolding filling the forest
with endless shades of green.

I’ve melted in Summer—
soaking in the sun,
glancing at its zenith
knowing my life is heading
toward the west
and sunsets.

I rush towards Fall—
its paradoxes,
its mysteries,
its brilliant colors and it IS
the quelling of death
knocking upon the door.

Leaves fall.
The winds pick up
and a fierce tempest blows.

Soft droppings of white
flakes usher in the frigid
landscape of winter.

There is a song in winter—
I’m uncertain how it is sung,
as at times it stings
and ends.

We believe ‘some-things’
but, in essence, more is happening
beneath the earth,
within the trees
than at any other season.

So…one day the song
I’m made of will stop
painted in the stars
a symphony will play-on
for those
whose song

will live on in the chirping bird,
the whale’s cry,
a wolf’s howl,
a mosquito’s buzz.

The Music lives on.

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