A map of trillium —

A chapter of violets —

A page of honeysuckle —

—  Stories filled with stars that rain luscious lavender —

Dew drops and honey on the early morning path —

Photographs of red roses, romance and Rachmaninoff —

—  Moon that hums in B Flat.. Leo who roars in Renoir red and in Monet’s pastel blue, at times lusty, at other times meditative, mellow —

Justice tries to tip her scales in favor of the many, not the few —

But Libra is lost —

The map of forest trillium has become a map of fire scorched stumps. For how long?

Where are the chapters of violets and shining stars?

Instead pages burned to ash in ovens of greed —

Stardust will prevail. The stuff of which we’re made. And we’ll again draw maps of mandolin music, write books of plentiful falling water, and walk on paths surrounded by compassion.

M. Raynes



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