the new times


“O hardened heart!” cries the stone,
Alas, failing beauty, the flowers bemoan.
Green to brown, grasses sad fanfare,
Breeze entwined in thistle, cool respite rare.

For man alone awaits those days –
“The new times, better times”, he vacantly prays.
Impatiently wringing, hands gnarly worn.
Overtly succumbed, contrived and forlorn.

New softening light eases the stone’s point of view.
Layered fragrance for a flower so sweet and new.
Brown to green, the grasses joyfully rave,
Breeze envelops the thistle to a blissful new wave.

For man among men sees this day,
With dove and cross, O death’s dismay.
Dreamily gazing at time beyond,
The grass, the flower, the stone shall bond.

(c) 2014 rick stassi

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