It is natural, this death,Our pillars are not immune,
The illusion of power
In the image of gold
Is sure to crumble, is crumbling
Will turn to dust again.
Where will we find our happiness
When the last golden leaf is gone?
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Happy Easter, Pappy
It’s been seven years since you died on Mother’s Day. Mother’s Day and Easter were your favorite holidays. Being in the garden with your fam...
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T’was on the distant mountain Past the gate of The Three Graces Where the wild forsythia blooms, An old crone sat On a green mossy stone Con...
4 comments:
Your blog just gets better and better. Wonderful stuff. What a gift!
Thank you RS, I'm very glad you are enjoying it.
perfect metaphor for these times!
qualcosa di bello, so true...
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