What is it about the summer
That is so empty, so silent,
I end up thinking much better?
What causes the stillness of Lent?
Winds casting a floral shower,
Flowers rolling where they were sent.
Then the same winds just die away.
Everything returns to stillness
On the short nights and the long days.
But why does it inspire calmness,
And not boredom or evil ways?
There is only deep thoughtfulness.
Between the pages of a book,
Through the long paragraphs, I look,
Lost from my little, obscure nook.
To dream of golden sunrises,
Roads beneath flowering trees.
But just like the common quote says,
Truth is stranger than all of these.
In the silent and blurry grace,
Why does real life come with more bliss?
No comments:
Post a Comment