Within the space of moving air,
Where the tempest dare not reach,
In the clasp of the all of these,
Are voices that cannot speak,
When grips the barren tree,
Like rainclouds of infinity,
An ever growing sound of toil,
Silenced by the stillness of soil,
Yet apples and pine nuts spill into thee,
Meadow of all in eternity,
The sky may be solid in this formility,
But pray thee a moment to think of the sea.
Rowan Blair Colver
Where the tempest dare not reach,
In the clasp of the all of these,
Are voices that cannot speak,
When grips the barren tree,
Like rainclouds of infinity,
An ever growing sound of toil,
Silenced by the stillness of soil,
Yet apples and pine nuts spill into thee,
Meadow of all in eternity,
The sky may be solid in this formility,
But pray thee a moment to think of the sea.
Rowan Blair Colver
