The Romans 12 Cycle: Teacher

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In the lavender

By the lake I write the

Stories. Very few will ever read. Too busy

With the summer sun to learn.

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Autumn annotates

The footnotes of falling leaves.

The mountains are my 

Tablet. I write with the ink

Bottled in the midnight skies.wp-image-249808474jpg.jpg

I sip hot coffee

By the fire, a book in hand.

I thread the needle

With my  tinder thoughts in the

Winter land’s cold hard facts.

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Speak forth the gentle

Green of reason threaded through

The broken mirrors.

Pieces make sense reflected in

Reality’s tapestry.

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I am not the year

Nor a season, month or day.

I am but minutes

Unmasking the threads

To the finished work, God’s hand

 

 

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