The Dog bared its fangs in vain,
A desperate try to drive away,
The beleaguering Lamb that trailed behind,
Seeking warmth within its light.

The Sheep sang a gentle tune,
In bleats that sought to welcome in,
The distant Pup that mourned alone,
Born of tempests, weighed by woe.

sticks and stones
along with graveyard bones
the dead speak for themselves

where lonely rows
hold their souls
no rest for the weary or the dead

packed in red clay
much the same
ashes to ashes, dust to dust

in a simple box
of pine that rots
hinges held yet set to rust

no names or dates
to mark the graves
memories are all that's left

lost generations
not of their own making
the dead are best when secrets are kept

16, 23, 30
I love you in them all
We don’t have to wait
Until the next life to be together now
Call me, call me, call me
Let me just talk to you

each of the seedling kindnesses you plant
every small deed you do lives like a
giant redwood year after you're gone--
all your goodwill skipping over time's
lengthy lake to ripple

So fight the feeling//
& hide your tears

it'll all be over
in 100 years//