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by Kay D. Weeks
What falls away is here, and we are there
with flowers, stars‐our hearts the wings of doves!
As singing gods replenish us, no fear
of empty glasses, always brimming love.
Without, no matter sun or grinding wheels,
the days move forward gently without words.
While beauty's force magnificently heals,
we sheathe our swords, and listen to small birds.
Succinctly now, the days grow darker‐Fall‐
and lights within are called upon to act
as fairy guides on paths that beckon, call,
to minister to higher selves: A fact.
Eradicating anger, seek Divine!
See all things come to you, a state sublime!