And there really is a season for all things
while some seasons are less obvious than another
There is a time to sew; a time to reap
and sometime there is weeping done
by a grieving mother
We rarely see the tiny sprout - the tree that never was
But we hope that seedling that was given to the river
Found a new life....
'just because - just because'
We see that river - rippling ..sometimes calm
We hear the birds as they nest in the tree
We hear the music; we hear the psalm
Yet, if our ears are deafened at birth
Is there still a joy - a true delight
And if we're blind and can not see
Is there really a day
and a star-lit night
Five senses we're supposed to receive
But if shy a few of those
Can we still believe
And if we can't have a mind that comprehends
does that mean the river never bends
The river does, as rivers do
The universe is universal
So it really can see you
And if I was looking back to see
If you were looking back at me
To see if I was looking back at you
Then where 1 or more are gathered
There I shall also be
- yes, 'tis true.
But when there is only 1; this - too
Shall be called a gathering
When 1 is joined with spirt and self
it's definitely a 'smathering'
I don't know how to weigh a smathering
I do not have a chart
I do not need a scale
I only need a heart.
Diane Stirling-Stevens,
February 11, 2008 (from my book of poems)
(c) 2/11/08.
