Owen’s Keeping

The day is aging, broken-down, decaying:
The valor’s not in winning, but in staying.

As feelings bubble up, and come, erupting —
A voice is raised, a sinning, but not staying –

Does breath come fast or slow? Is grief corrupting?
Dismaying though each inning be in staying —

For every type of harvest, there’s a reaping;
And so the new beginning, found in staying.

The sky that patient waits, for Owen’s keeping:
The stars tonight are spinning – love
Is staying

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