In the early hours of the day's caress,
I reflect on other wakes,
and shakes and makes,
of a soul's touch
Two thoughts bubble up from mem'ry's
claim on celebration midst lament ...
this first is the best I can remember (recreate)
from an offering of a stranger at my grandmother's wake --
The breath of spring is strumming sadly now--
The breath of spring is strumming fiercely now--
The breath of spring is humming sweetly now--
this is from musing following another wake ...
Behense the whisper-drift of angels
as they caress in flight the Currents,
birthed in humanity's entwining,
breathed into Life by the Goddess.
Drawn to lands of everbeen and nowbe,
their shimmering wake evokes dreams of wings,
and the cavetation of joylove
produces notes for the Spirit Song.
All this makes my soul leap in tune.
aye, and if we love any person greatly, we must love everyone a little bit;
and as we celebrate with thee, we celebrate our own joy of life.