Margret Silvester

Almost a prayer - or: What is my job?

 

Every tree has a soul,
every flower, that grows,
every meadow, which greens
every river, that flows.
And even a stone
has a name of it's own.
 
A tiny flee
and the bumblebee,
each single blade of grass,
the swimming fish,
every humans wish
and the clouds filled with rain -
on earth we will remain
till the day we are called
to a land unknown.
No more question to ask,
no more suffer or frown.
 
The stars seem desireable,
and may be they are,
but a long way to go.
No one travels so far.
 
Only here we can breathe
on this precious ground.
The Mother of all -
she takes care all around.
My job left to do:
maybe rescue a bee -
as a matter of fact
nothing else bothers me.
 

 

All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Margret Silvester.
Published on e-Stories.org on 03/03/2014.

 

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Lied der Jahreszeiten von Margret Silvester



Wie die Erde um die Sonne kreist, wie es Tag und wieder Nacht wird, wie der Winter dem Frhling weicht, so liest sich der Sonettenkranz.

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