When Wisdom speaks, who will turn their ear to her subtle voice?
When Autumn hands the baton to Winter the leaves obey the waning sun
Flowers and bees know their place without consideration of their position
Where is, then, the room for my critique?
Nay, there is naught.
For in the giving of life, breath and heartbeat, is a profound mystery:
The staying of wrath, the (w)rest of mercy, the awe of grace
Glad is my heart for its chance to pump and feel
And content is my soul for Present's sake.
Tonight I rest (for a short while). Tomorrow I wrestle with another day to lament and rejoice in my choices to be made. Goodnight sweet world.
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