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.