Away the bitterness of aching hearts,
the shadowed mist of fears
that cycle with brown and blossom
with dreams of honey-gold
as you watch the moon glow silver after spring storms
gust with purple fury
and grey clouds sail across the indigo night sea
till the sun rises—
now you can almost smell the scent of peaches
in her rays, hear the tinkling bell-voices of jonquils
sensing if. . .breathing,
beating in the heart of today.
Today’s message from the Oracle. The world is very scary now and filled with hate and ignorance, but at least there are spring flowers that rise predictably from bulbs year after year.