Saturday, August 9, 2014

A Vagabond at the Gate

What is this strife and worry all about,
This building up and tearing down of things?
I know a wood where birds flit in and out,
And the west wind sings.

What of the sobs and hate-words that I hear,
This shouting and mad barter in the street?
I know a calm hill where the stars seem near
And the airs are sweet.

What of the power that passes in a breath,
This digging for the buried gates of Doom?
I know a vale where echoes laugh at Death,
And the wild flowers bloom.

-Glenn Ward Dresbach

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