the drenching scent of lilacs beckoning,
the whispers of a breeze forever young,
the flighty dance of sparrows, wing to wing,
whose strains rise up to wake the sleeping sun—

these all, unrushed by day or year or time,
resolve to pause the frantic, racing wheel
of anxious humankind: with ancient rhyme,
the Wisdom of the ages to reveal.

with coffee mug securely in my grasp
and bare toes cool against the slats of wood,
I sit in silence, lost, not in the past,
but in the intimately present good.

and as the earth is cleansed with morning dew,
still mercy sings of making all things new.