Thursday, September 26, 2013

Turn Me Into Song

This is what was bequeathed us:
This earth the beloved left
And, leaving,
Left to us.
 
No other world
But this one:
Willows and the river
And the factory
With its black smokestacks.
 
No other shore, only this bank
On which the living gather.
 
No meaning but what we find here.
No purpose but what we make.
 
That, and the beloved’s clear instructions:
Turn me into song; sing me awake.
 
~ Gregory Orr ~
 
(How Beautiful the Beloved)

1 comment:

Howdy and thanks for looking in the window. Glad to have your comments here, just please remember to be kind.