One evening as I dig and hoe,

I chance upon parades of souls,

Proceeding past the garden’s end.

Electing not to comprehend

The point of our respective roles,

I follow, distantly and slow,

Then stop, astonished, in the woods.

For my intruder’s eye can see

The souls span humankind, of course,

But plants and beasts are there in force;

You find a man, an ass or tree:

Our whole once-living worldly goods.

I turn, splash water from a stream,

And wonder if it was a dream.

◄ Hunger Games

The wisdom of age ►


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Stephen Gospage

Fri 6th Aug 2021 16:25

Many thanks to Julie and Ray for also liking this poem.

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Stephen Gospage

Wed 28th Jul 2021 17:49

Many thanks to Keith and John for the kind comments. I must admit that this poem grew on me as I wrote and finalised it. I found the idea of being taken from an everyday experience like gardening into a competely different and mystical world fascinating.

And thanks to Holden, Eric and New Shoes for reading the poem and liking it.

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John Coopey

Tue 27th Jul 2021 20:41

Masterful, Stephen. Rich in imagery and metaphysics.

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keith jeffries

Tue 27th Jul 2021 17:59

A mystical experience yet described with natural simplicity. Those souls are never far from us. We glimpse in wonder but what we see was and is are different dimensions of this world

Thank you for this intriguing poem

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