Stonegales

February 17, 2005

The sounds of windchimes

Mixing with that of the leaves.

Who would hear these winding rhymes

Show me one who believes.

One to see the tears

Their trail down dusty paths

And, forgetting long-known fears

Follows them to their last

To their final breath

Never finding what they wish

But finding a simple rest

The very thing for which I wish

My pen grows tired

Of following trackless trails

To mountains ever higher

Than the last form whence come gales.

Winds from the stones

Blowing wails to whip at us

Not only am I the one who groans

But all who have joined us.

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