Sunday, May 22, 2005

The wild and windy storm
That couched us in its arms
The cradle soft and warm

Disarm the inevitable
Beneath our shaded lids
We hid on triumph's hill

Beneath the undermountain
The caves drip dark and deep
In long-forgotten fountains

And we are a reclused people
And the stars in the lost sky
Are our church steeple

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After a busy day when confronting admin

 We must all come  Find ourselves And we will all be found Regardless  As the sun finds the morning As breath finds the lungs As I am found ...