A Silent Paean I love the way the green leaves dance In old, tall shade trees; the grass blades swinging in the wind, the birds sweetly chirping. God, a piece of heaven here, idyllic-- All but for the man-made sounds of Mowers lawning, edgers ringing, Cars combusting. Join me in a quiet prayer that trees, Old souls that they are, will always be here With their own silent paean to the cosmic rule Of Universe. A rule they state, crystal clear, in light of their own being: Insistent growth toward giving Life of Light that holds The promise; blueprint plan unfolding while clinging roots Deepen. Randy Guess ©1999 [About The Poet]     [How Could I Ask For More?] [A Sweeter Dragon Flame]     [The Devil and the Fourth of July] [Wrestling Hemingway]     [Wiggleworm]     [Short-Timer]     [Song of Extancy] [A Silent Paean]     [When Leaves Fall]     [Bipolarity]     [Weeping Willows] [Rainbow Color Reality]     [Hear The Mountains Calling]     [A Matter of Time] [Fair and Moldy Muse]     [Ode to a Scottish Lass] [In Praise of Earth and Sky and Sea] [Understanding Anne Sexton] [Home]    [What's New] [Short Stories]    [Philosophy]    [Forums] [Webrings]    [Biographies]    [Site Index]    [Contact] [Extras]    [Links]    [Copyright] <top>