Staring at the rain, I saw no more the rain, but
what appeared to be
what appeared to be
a thousand silver threads
pulled so tightly,
that when God plucked them
only a fragment of their image appeared.
Beneath the silent earth
Mother Nature was weaving her masterpiece.
Thru the soil she would spin
Sewing up the seam of the dry root of the birch.
pulled so tightly,
that when God plucked them
only a fragment of their image appeared.
Beneath the silent earth
Mother Nature was weaving her masterpiece.
Thru the soil she would spin
Sewing up the seam of the dry root of the birch.
Then up the slender trunk
and thru the myriad of twigs,
she weaved with the precision of a Japanese artist.
Upon reaching the highest leaf
She would pause,
Tie a knot, and thread her needle again.
Tie a knot, and thread her needle again.
mb 1966
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