The Scarlet Thread Anthology: Fog of Love

In the crib of a lonely silence,

In the arms of a morning mist,

Lies the beauty of this world.

It is not the emerald grass that has been burnished by dew of day,

It is not the dulcet harmony of the little sparrows that sing and fly away.

It cannot be the rhythm of the breeze that brings everything to dance,

And it cannot be the whippoorwill that leaves everything to chance.

Alas, it is none of this, which touches a heart so many, and then drifts

into disrememberance. No, the essence of the wind and the earth and the rain,

Does not lie in grass or oats or even grain.

It lies in the smile of the bonnie lass on the horse,

Whose smile and laughter are beauty’s very source.

If she is not there, then do tell me please;

It would put my heart to yearning ease.

But if she is there, with her horse and her smile,

Tell me again and again for a while.

For you see it is hard for me to ponder, to see and to know,

Why an angel came down to these lands below.

By Peter Wysocki

Photo via (cc) Flickr user jbelluch (Jake Bellucci)

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