Do not be sad For fate is inevitable, What’s destined will find its way. The pens have dried, The pages have been folded, And every matter has already been settled. So your sorrow changes nothing It neither hastens nor delays, Neither adds nor takes away.
I say the words That may or may not help me I say the names That may or may not be heard. I cry the daily tears That may or may not heal me And gather up the strength To face another day of pain Without a bird outside my window. ljm
Sometimes In summer When the weather smothers I wonder whether the garden knows. The shape of the hand that mothers Or the fist that brings the hose. Flowers wilt and bow in worship, Begging palms to bring the rain. Fruit given up in offering To exchange and then obtain.