Gardens

Valleys and mountains and roads
If I had it my way
I’d never grow old
Would like to go swimming
But These rivers have grown so cold

I Swallow the sorrow that cools between the years
My word’s an angry birth
Your hand’s upon my earth
Another’s upon the burning
of my tears

Angels, dusky clouds of June
The many faces of the moon
Pools and tides and lakes and springs
The blessed burdens and gardens a childhood brings
Without these roots we’d have no wings
Its only after a lifetime can we begin to sing

Copywright 2014
By Shawnna Burt

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