Red glowing embers lift from
the bonfire floating heavenward,
The dark night encircles us like the downy wings of a bird.
Day comes, and all alone the song of a meadowlark beckons,
His minor keys, wistful and questioning he reckons.
I know your promises and how grand they are.
Please forgive me, if they seem away so far.
These branches dip to the ground with their weight,
Loaded they are with energy delivering their freight.
Some gave up their life just for the produce,
Of pies, sauce, jam and even juice.
Not now, it isn't the season
So, on and on, we run.
Are we wrong?
Are we strong?
I must not grieve,
I must believe.
In justice rare,
His holy care.
A friend's hello,
A completed dream.