The Unknown
and still his body calls
his bones do yearn
for sacred rest
in native soil
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and still his body calls
his bones do yearn
for sacred rest
in native soil
Night chill settles in
Lightning in the distant hills
Thunder in the grass
People say that it’s outdated
a quaint archaism extinct
I take delight every word
my pen reveals in deep blue ink
When the envelope delivered
a wad of pages then unfurled
enter now the deep enchantment
from a dear friend across the world
Friend, promise me will you?
when it comes, you will know it so
do not let it pass
It may present as just a
moment from the ether
when all the world goes silent
but do not let it pass
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