The midnight breeze escorts your pace,
Grace in motion, my soul’s quiet praise.
Might I dare to ask, if true,
Who is the maiden with mohawk hue?
I cannot bear to meet her gaze,
The fairest face that steals the haze.

I’m in a contest I can’t win
Or even come in second.
My bird has flown from the streetlight arm
And taken promise with it.

Another lands and then departs
To mock my hopeful prayers
The sky teems with symbolic fowl
But I can’t suss their meaning.

A big one flew straight over me
But I can’t read its message.
Was it promising good health
Or telling me it’s sorry

That I’ll only get just what I have
To get me through tomorrow
And if I am not strong enough
The game will then be over.

Why are birds the messengers
In answer to my pleas
They send me signals I can’t read
And I walk on in darkness.
ljm

Maybe it’s nothing
Always has been
But whatever it is
I’d do it again

When the fetus unfurls
A Spirit flees the confines.
It sprints rampant through life to seek.
Having tasted the fruits of pleasure and pain
And run the gamut of livings extent....
It curls and pays obeyance
To all that is bounteous and worthwhile....
Then, when done, it enters the deep black void
And, without malice, quite willingly,
Vanishes!

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ

God for all his blessings

Jesus for his understanding

The Holly Spirit for strength and courage