Written at a time of great cruelty and deceit
a gift from the multitude of stars
blessed with both heart and soul:
you shall not grow old.
Love is too often hoarded, accumulated, squirreled away:
like money, jewels, power, prestige.
at night I can be at peace,
it is rare to meet your lover at sunrise or sunset
for these times belong to the poor and weary.
for the rarity and grandeur of sunrise and sunset
we exist in spring rains and passing showers.
Gravity persuades us towards perambulating beneath the moon.
children need protection for life.
Even if the sun is not overhead
we grow to love trees, plants, flowers,
the rip-roaring energy of children and young dogs.
casting its jagged shadow here, there, everywhere,
we must counter this with all the kindness we possess
to those we love and, more especially, to the discarded, dispossessed.