Hand to Earth by Rebecca Brewin, Index, Writing, Yoga, Retreats, Workshops, Info/Contact
LINES ON A PAGE
These words, though dark etchings on the white page,Are each in potential little carriers of light;I thought I'd know better, one of my age,Yet necessity bore me into this night.A word is a star, already burned out,Before it reaches my such fleeting eye;Then it's mind to which I must lend my shout,That robs and twists what belongs to the sky.Like a flock of birds loosening from trees,These words now scatter as seeds in a field;Just as roots reach down, the branch is what frees,And so what sinks deep produces a yield.You lead me again down your garden path,But now I smell the flowers, not after-math.
Copyright © 2020 Rebecca Brewin, all rights reserved. firstname.lastname@example.org +44 (0) 789 693 6625 Return to top