Monday, October 12, 2015

Sacred Space

Dark, dark, dark, scarecrows from past,
May stand in green fields of delight,
Appearing like a witch out of nowhere,
Showing their graceless faces filled with paint,
Casting shadows on our bliss,
Tearing at it with sharp paws and long nails.

When a shadow falls, run, run, run,
Come home before it gets too dark,
And take delight in our sweet talk,
By the hearth, sit in comfort idly,
For the little lamp of hope,
That I put along with our prayers,
Will shine bright, brighter,
Scaring away all shadows,

There are no shadows, my dear
You are at home, beside me,
In our minute but perfect sacred space.

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