The seasons
come & then gently, away they drift & go,
Tides wash in, they diminish & then again
they grow,
Rivers in
abundance run, after long hard winter´s snow,
Ink from the
poet´s quill, with love & words gently flow,
Winds through
days, weeks & years shall pass & softly blow.
Before death
knocks upon life´s door, crones will duly know,
The old man
dying, shall wisely, his precious memories stow,
For one day,
to his small grandson, his lifetime, relate & show,
The world
cries with joy at birth & at death it cries with woe,
And the
Bushman weeps at hunger & having to shoot the doe.
From dust
we´re born & at death we imminently go below,
The fisherman
casts ancient nets & his lines he´ll also throw,
While the
farmer plants, reaps & then again he´ll start to sow,
And birds fly
up high while the little worm stays down below,
Life ebbs
& flows, back & forth, shifts continuously to & fro.
The nimble
fingers of the seamstress shall, stitch, darn & sew,
The hunter
deep in the forest shall always aim & shoot his bow,
There is
peace, then war between friends turning them into foe,
The earth´s dug
deep & then tended, with wielding scythe & hoe,
Then grim reaper
gardener arrives armed, to harvest, snip & mow.
In the place of
“yes”, battered & abused shall learn to say the “no”,
Where leaders
will realize the alternative to the present status quo,
When instead of
pushing away the weak, we shall help, carry & tow,
We shall help
our fellow man & to the other side we´ll offer to row,
And my love for
you shall continue, like a candle in the dark to glow.
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