7 July 2008, 10:02 AM
In response to DrBacchus's poem for today.
But it IS a sign.
You don’t have to see
the geese flying southward
in summertime, the star that falls
just so in the empty darkness
of the sky-sea, the aberrant fourth leaf
on an otherwise common clover
right there in the backyard
beneath the sycamore. Where I sit,
even that is a sign.
Hell is overthrown,
the captives are freed, and we
have made our way on anguished,
war-torn feet to Victoria.
Check out the Weekend Wordsmith.