Then solace comes, in dreams of cooler weather,
When autumn’s voice will free the captive heart,
The music of what can be done, together,
The silence of what must be borne, apart.
The color on the hills: a box of crayons,
The scent of leaves and trees and autumn things,
In sweaters, charged with hope, and maybe ions,
And other comforts fall so often brings —
We stand upon the threshold of departure,
Not from our lives, but how we choose to live,
The waiter, and the worker, and the charger,
A time to take, a time to hold, or give —
For life’s chaotic, but, it is not lawless,
And time itself can bring us hope and solace
I love your picture! And the scenery of it. And your blog.😍
The music of what can be done, together,
The silence of what must be borne, apart.
These words create beautiful images. And time, itself….how we choose to live….
Who is the minister? you or your wife?
She is.
OK, of course i know that; i only mean to imply that you are frequently a conduit for compassion and God’s love.
Enjoy your Day!
Holly
❤️
Amazing and beautiful use of words. A wonderful poem.
Reblogged this on johncoyote and commented:
Please read and enjoy the work of a talented writer.