A Year of Poems – Day 37

Let lilting voices drift like floating snow
on all the flowers gathered here below
in this plot that lies nurtured and unchecked –
a garden grown with equal care neglect.
Pause for a floating second as the flakes
fly like burning ash with petals in their wake,
drifting down to burning embers smoking
in the rain, which from the heavens falling,
smites our ears with the pounding lilting song
that shall fade from earth ere long.
Speak O voices before the vision fades
leaving us like trees – naked and afraid.
We like sheep have gone astray wandering
long from the guiding voice and squandering
the ticking clock on nothing but more clocks,
till with our choir of metronomes we lock
out the soft voices of the choir singing
above. Or is it just one, which ringing
down like ashen petals on our soiled gown
settles on our temple like a pearly crown
where like a nesting dove he will ever dwell
lilting to our ear that all will be well.

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