Saturday 29 August 2015

The Visitor ~ Bart Wolffe

In between, where leaves brush the wind
And sun dances playing its eternal game
Yesterday is somewhere, hardly speaks
Of what it knew. Now is the impending motion,
The future moment hinged upon a branch
Rooted to a trunk that has lived for years
In this old ground.

It is I who am the visitor, just passing.

~ Bart Wolffe ~

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