So, here goes...
MOORS
the moors lie, an open canvas
blown smooth by the wind --
barrenness, barrenness, barrenness that
gives birth to so much beauty.
the opening dawn brushes the heart
steals it away into the sweet, the familiar mundane
wavering chords of birdsong
weave through thick emptiness
fading, fading, fading
into the fog; straying,
waking in the rain.
lost hope is called back
and love wanders into the sun,
leaves its nest behind
to soar into heaven's sanctuary,
circling, circling, circling
over the gentle folds of the earth.
.
