Frail ball of dust adrift in the cosmos
Delicate balance of warmth and light
Life springing forth in short dances of being
Meaningless instance in the reality of the universe

Something inside me begs speak of existence
This vague instinct to nourish hopes in vain?
Natures prophesy composes the great plan
My own apparent impossible struggle to explain

The close certain set of the mystery
Time dancing onward keeping to certain pace
Always anxious for assurance of eternity
Seeking the calm rewarding place of rest

Even the smallest of f lowers feel the need for future
Waiting patient for blessed spring bestowing renewal
Be mankind but another small part of the whole?
Winter comes, to find us worthy of a second spring?

I would wonder…

Steve ‘Easy’ Whitacre August 12th, 2008


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