musing from Letters Home by march

A linen table cloth,
Trees of oak, birch, and pine,
Sorrow stains the fabric
Like the sweetest berry wine.
All the colorings of home
and yet the colors are not mine.

Shadows trace the walls
And the sun stands still.
She's been keeping eyes on me
Since I was born against my will;
Rays and rays embracing me
Beyond the windowsill.

Boats have lined the Jordan,
And the sparrow's built her nest.
Night is falling hard
And we all need to rest.

There will always be a last time;
Past is guaranteed.
Pretend for a moment
That the leaves will still turn green.
Praying for a moment
That tomorrow will be seen.

• Folk
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• Buxton