Wind gently bobs the seed heads
in the sheen of golden afternoon,
breathing through each strand
the gentle separation —
what has always been
from what has seemed to be
Everything has always grown in this love —
nothing has been condemned,
nothing has been sullied,
The sweet purposes come to fruition
and are gathered safely,
ready to bless through the winter,
ready to bloom in the spring.
©Wendy Mulhern
October 4, 2015
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